A Certain Je Ne Sais Quoi
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: WINCEST AU! I'm on a roll with these, it seems. Janitor!Dean meets KindergardenTeacher!Sam under the unfortunate event of projectile vomiting. Kids keep getting sick, though, so if Dean has to go back, it's not the end of the world. Occasional appearance of Misha, who's a secretary, and seriously, who wouldn't read a story with Misha as a secretary? EPILOGUE IS UP!
1. Chapter 1

A/N Wincest AU #34555, it seems like. I swear, I'll get off this kick soon. Anyways, weird fandom cross of the character of Misha, who's just a little too adorable to leave on his own.

xxxxxxx

"Would a janitor please report to room 244. Janitor to room 244. Thank you."

Dean hung his head and groaned at the intercom, throwing down his wrench and wiping his greasy hands on a nearby rag.

This was the third call he'd gotten the last two days, and he was tired of showing up and cleaning puke.  
Seriously.

Being a janitor at Hartford Elementary was pretty simple, usually. The pay wasn't great, but who really went into the janitor business thinking, "Ooh, I'll make tons of money?"

Dean got off the basement floor and stretched, feeling the bones in his shoulders pop as he straightened himself up.  
He had been fixing up some pipes when the call went through, and while he didn't revel in the fact that he was going to spend the next hour mopping up puke, it at least meant he could get off his ass, which was currently numb.

"It's Dean." He said into his walkie-talkie. "I got this."  
The office buzzed him back, a familiar voice on the line.

"Jesus, this is like the third kid this week! And it's not even Wednesday!" Misha, the male secretary grumbled over the line. "What's up with all these kids getting sick?"

Dean spoke back into the receiver. "I dunno man. Just be glad you're not the one cleaning it up."  
He could feel Misha shudder from the basement.

"Yeah man, sucks to be you."  
"I don't see you gettin' off your ass to help."

Misha's voice came over a little squeaky. "Nope, got tons of stuff to do. Ah, filing! Yeah, tons of filing!"

Bullshit. "You have fun with that, Misha."

He made his way up the stairs then, going up to the second floor where room 244 was.  
"Oh, bye the way, Dean.." Misha's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie.

"There's a new teacher for that room. Name's Winchester or something. Hot new piece of ass, according to the rest of the ladies here in the office."

Dean heard a few giggles before Misha clicked the microphone off.

"Where's Lownds?" Dean asked as he climbed the stairs, interested.

"Vacation, I guess." Was Misha's reply. "Lemme know if he's hot." Came before the signal cut off.

"Will do." Dean said, sighing a little as he came around the corner where the second floor mops were.

"You feeling lucky, punk?" He asked the mops when he found them in the creepy, chemical-smelling closet.

They didn't reply.

He grabbed the awful cherry scented powder they made you throw on the barf(and fuck that stuff was worse than the barf sometimes) and added it to the mop bucket.

"Yeah, me neither." He told the mops.

* * *

The sounds of retching filled room 244 as Sam Winchester, substitute K5 teacher pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

"Not again, Adam!"  
The tiny k5 year old was coughing into for the third time in the last half an hour. Where was the damn janitor?

"Someone get him a bucket!" Sam said as he moved towards the door to wait for the janitor.  
None of the kids moved, staying at the corners of the room like the puke was ground zero.  
He didn't really blame them, but he felt bad for Adam, who was still retching. Poor kid looked like a ghost, pale and sweating all over the place.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock on the door.

"Janitor." Came a gravelly voice.

Sam sighed in relief, opening the door to a green clothed guy, who bumped by way too fast for Sam to see him.

"Oh thank God you're here." Sam said to him, gesturing for the kids (And the barf-covered Adam) to exit to the other room across the hall, where the other kindergarten teacher was waiting. After waiting around like they didn't know what to do for a half hour, though.

The man moved forward with the bucket until he got to the kid, and by default, the puke splattering the center of the wood floor.

"Y'all right?" The janitor asked, wringing the mop out after spreading the cherry-scented dust all over the blast area, and Sam looked at him.

He went a little breathless, ashamed to say.

Slightly-laughing green eyes stared back at him from a pale, handsome face. Blonde hair reflected in the dim lighting (Which Sam kept hitting with his head, stupid low ceilings)

"Uh, yeah." Sam said after a few seconds of dumbly staring at the hot janitor who had no right to be that pretty. "I'm fine."

The man seemed to smile a little, and Sam realized that he was standing alone in a room covered in puke and staring at the school's cute janitor.

Cute?

Hell no. Man was prettier than some girls he knew.

"So, ah, how's it going?" Sam asked awkwardly, trying to ease the tension.

"Fine." The guy said, tilting his face away from Sam like he didn't want to look at him.

The janitor went on with his job, pretty much ignoring Sam and acting like it was all he did all week, and from what Sam'd heard from the other teachers, it probably was. The kids had been passing around a stomach flu for a couple days now, and it'd been about the third call of "Janitor" Sam had heard just this week. Jesus. He didn't envy that guy's job.

"You want some help?" Sam asked a few minutes of watching (The janitor's ass) as he cleaned up.

"No," The man said, wringing out the mop one last time. "Looks good. Kid going home?"

Sam nodded. "Yep. Poor kid practically projectile vomited all over the place."

The guy nodded sharply, almost briskly, and began wheeling the mops out the door with a quick

"Seeya."

Sam looked on as he disappeared. Was it something he said?

* * *

_Holy crap. _Was Dean's first thought when the classroom door.

Misha hadn't been lying when he said there was a hot new piece of ass residing in room 244. Guy was a giant, all tan skin and white dress shirt and Dean had to keep his eyes on the (disgusting) puke so he wouldn't drool.

The guy's face lit up like it was Christmas when Dean rolled the mops in, and by the look of the classroom, Dean didn't have to wonder why.

There was vomit all over the floor, pink and disgusting with chunks in it, complete with a still currently throwing up kid in the center of the room.

The new teacher was standing to the side of the room, watching his kids across the hall as he pinched his nose subconsciously.

Dean worked up the nerve to look at him straight on.

"Y'all right?" He asked, trying not to squeal as the man's gorgeous blue-green eyes settled on him.

"Uhh, yeah. I'm fine," The new teacher said in a tired voice.

Dean blushed as the man smiled a little, too embarrassed to make anymore conversation.

He totally didn't notice that it was deep and slightly musical voice, because he was a janitor and he had a job to do.

He wasn't here to ogle the new teachers.

Besides, he wasn't good at conversation. Maybe that's why he was a janitor.

That didn't stop him from sneaking a glance at Winchester's (That was the name on the door) ass as he cleaned up the vomit.

"So, ah, how's it going?" Came Winchester's voice from behind him, making him pause slightly and hope the guy didn't like talking a lot. Dean was NOT going to embarrass himself.

"Fine." He said shortly, proud of himself when it didn't squeak.

There was a shuffle behind him, and then:

"You want some help?"

Dean almost snorted. Mr. White Dress Shirt was gonna come help him clean up vomit?

"No. " He said, finishing up. "Looks good. Kid going home?" He turned and tried not to stare too much, but damn those were some ripped muscles. Dean was totally gonna gonna ask Misha more about Winchester before the day was up.

"Yep." Winchester said. "Poor kid practically projectile vomited all over the place."

He looked tired, but Dean could still see the eager teacher beneath. Maybe it was his first day on the job?

"Yep." Dean acknowledged that with a nod.

He wheeled the mops out as quick as he could without stumbling, and if he jumped Misha later for information, it was no one's fault but Misha's.

* * *

A/N More to come later! Leave me a review! You like? J


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Short update! Leave me a review with what you thought!

* * *

A week later, things were still pretty much the same.

"I hate you so much right now, Misha." Dean grumbled through the walkie talkie as he made his way to the second floor.

"Hey!" Misha's mock-offended voice crackled through the receiver. "I'm doing you a favor here, buddy. I know a couple of the office ladies here wouldn't mind getting dirty just to see Winchester. Consider yourself lucky!"

Dean didn't reply, shaking his head as he made his way to the broom closet.

"Besides," Misha said. "Don't pretend like you aren't obsessed with him. I heard you last week! You were like a teenage girl with her first crush!"

"Shut up, Misha." Dean grumbled. "I'm not obsessed."

"Oh, yeah you are." There was a shuffle, and Dean knew Misha was sitting so he could make invisible points in the air.

"First, you almost hyperventilated after you met him-and I'm totally an awesome friend for letting you freak out in my office by the way-and second, he was all you talked about last week. 'Mr. Winchester' this, 'Mr. Winchester' that. You're like my little sis was when she was into that bieber kid. Except she'd actually talk to bieber if she met him! You haven't talked to him at all!"

"I have!" Dean said defensively.

"Uh uh, when?" Misha asked. There was silence.

"Fine." Dean said after a pause. "I haven't talked to him.

But why do I have to go clean up this round of puke? There are other janitors!" He said, irritated.

"See, this is where my favor comes in!" Misha said like the whole plan had revealed itself then.

"You gotta go flirt with him while you clean up. It's the perfect plan!"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, it isn't, Misha."

"Well, anyways." Misha said like he hasn't heard him. "We're having a pool in the office about which way he swings. Lemme know when you find out!" A click, then silence.  
Goddamn it he hated Misha.

But really, was he ready to see Winchester again?

Dean hated that he got awkward around people he liked. It was a terrible pain. If only he could get through a conversation with Winchester without blushing and looking like an idiot.  
Maybe he shouldn't go.

Dean looked up from the radio and realized he was standing in the middle of a hallway arguing about whether or not he'd like to go clean up the puke in the hot new teacher's room.

Of course he was.

Time to put on your big boy pants! Sang the Misha in the back of his head.

Fuck him.

* * *

"I'm really sorry Mrs. Kulas, but I'm going to have to send your son to the nurse. This is the second time he's been sick here this week." Sam murmured into the phone as he shepherded the other kids to the room across the hall.

"Is he really that sick?" The stupid mother asked over the line.

Well, lady, if your kids been throwing up all week, I'd say so.

He thought, but replied calmly to the mom.

"We just want what's best for Adam, and right now he's very sick." He stressed. "I just want to make sure he goes home and gets better."

"All right." The idiot mom sighed. She made it sound like a big sacrifice on her part to come pick her son up. Didn't this lady feel bad that her son was miserable?

"Thank you." Sam said truthfully. "We'll see you soon."

Hanging up the phone, he leaned back against the wall and tried not to eye the large splatter of throw up decorating the table.

Was it sad that he could tell what the kid had for lunch just by looking at it.

This week was terrible, and with the kids throwing up all he time, his stint as a sub was going poorly.

He was pretty sure his week consisted of 25% teaching and 75% telling the kids don't freak out, the janitor will be here soon.

Oh yeah. The janitor.

He'd ended up naming him Janitor McSexy, because he was a die hard Grey's Anatomy fan, and the guy deserved it. He was probably hotter then most of the guys on the show.

Sadly, he apparently didn't like Sam. Mr. Mystery Sanitation Worker had scrambled out of the room like his pants were on fire when Sam had met him, and Sam had been moping ever since.

Did anybody like him?

A sharp knock on the door knocked him out of his thoughts.

"Janitor." A deep voice rumbled. Sam turned and gaped again.

Speak of the devil. Janitor McSexy was here.

* * *

A/N Sorry for the short update! There will be another chapter soon! Just relax in the fact that I updated twice in a row!:)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Short(er) Update! Don't forget to leave me a review, they are the light in my day!  
This chapter dedicated to my dedicated beta! May your new Dean amulet bring you happiness!

* * *

"Uhh, hey." Sam said to the mystery green-eyed man., watching him wheel his mops in.

"Another mess. I'm sorry man, I can help if you want." He said, trying to lighten the mood. Maybe the guy would actually stick around this time.

"No, it's fine." The man said politely, turning away and grabbing the cherry dust of doom, as his kids referred to it as. And so, Sam resigned himself to another awkward half hour of not really talking and really wanting to. The guy was sort of an ass.  
Or maybe he just wasn't interested.

Sam refused to believe it was him. It probably wasn't, right?

He surreptitiously sniffed his breath when the janitor wasn't looking, but it was fine. What the hell? Maybe he didn't like guys. Aww.

The silence passed for a long time, broken only by the squish of the mop and the slide of the janitor's boots.

Sam sat down at his desk, shuffling some papers around till he found his lukewarm coffee, trying to keep his eyes off of the self proclaimed No-Sam zone cleaning up puke.

Dean was unhappy. It wasn't an unfamiliar state for him to be in, not even close. Considering his job, he couldn't be bright and peppy all the time, but today was just a crappy day.

Misha's words were still ringing in his head, sadly. How he ended up with a friend like Misha, Dean didn't know. Was there a return receipt for him or something?

It wasn't just that he had to clean up the puke. Okay, that part was pretty shitty, it it was GENERALLY shitty. Stuff you can do, bitch about and get over twenty seconds later.

Like cleaning out a litter box. Dean's cats shit pretty spectacularly, in all honesty. But he didn't care, not really.

His problem was with himself. First off, he was standing (alone) in a room with the new (incredibly hot) teacher he wasn't currently jumping (in a good way) with his gay self. He was being rude.

Winchester had been nothing but polite, asking if he could help with that delicious look of eagerness on his face like that was all he wanted to do was make Dean happy.

Seriously. He would be pathetic if it weren't cute.

And dressed in hot packaging.

The look on Winchester's face when Dean had told him off briskly was so disappointed that Dean kinda wanted to throw himself into the giant's arms and beg forgiveness.

But, as luck would have it, the smell of fresh puke wafted over to him, and he remembered his reason for even being there in the first place.

Grabbing his supplies, he began taking care of the throw up slowly, trying to angle his mop so he could catch a glimpse of Winchester's ass as the man bent to grab something.

Guy was like three times bigger than the kids. Dean bet he was-

Nope. Not going there. Focus. Puke. Mop. Clean.

Simple.

There was a shuffling sound behind Dean as Winchester stood up.

"Are you sure I can't help, man?" He asked, stretching his arms up in a yawn. "I've seen you do it already."

Dean held his mop tightly, knuckles turning white.

"It's now or never!" Yelled the Misha voice in the back of his head. "C'mon Dean! Man up! Or, whatever! Ask him for his number!"

It was a little sad that his conscience was Misha.

He steeled himself and turned around, heart suddenly beating three hundred miles an hour.

"Actually, you can help me with something." He said, praying to whatever god looked over slightly closeted gay socially inept people.  
"Yeah?" Winchester asked, eyes lighting up. Goddamn.

Now or never.

"Give me your number?" He asked, trying to flash that smile Misha was always telling him he hid.

The look on Winchester's face was pure shock. Green eyes were wide as they stared at him for a few seconds.

Dean could feel the blush creep up his neck as his mortification increased. Oh god, he'd made a mistake.

"Uh, not if you're not, you know..." He blurted out, beginning to go into a ramble. "I mean, I don't always ask people out while I'm cleaning up puke, but the office has a pool, and oh god. You're probably not even gay, huh? People get fired for this kinda stuff, right? I'm so screwed. And who's gonna-" he broke off, face red.

Wait. Was the teacher smiling?

Winchester's face had gone from shocked to amused, smile slowly slipping onto his face as he watched Dean flail around like an idiot.  
He was smiling? Oh crap. Maybe he thought it was all a joke.

No, that was good. He could spin it like that. What's a good joke over puke?

"Dude, I don't even know your name." Winchester said, smiling. "My Momma don' let me go out with strangers." He said, overemphasized accent making his words twang.

Wait. Was Winchester flirting with him?

"Ah, my name's Dean. Yeah. Dean." He blurted it quickly, face red.

"You sure about that?" Winchester asked, smile on his face getting wider by the second.

"About the number? Yeah. I'm sure. Totally sure." He said, throwing all his chips on the table. God he was desperate.

"No, I meant the name." Winchester said jokingly, but blushed a little himself. "But I'd love to give you my number too." He said, grinning slightly.

Dean just stood there, mouth gaping for a few seconds as he stared at the most amazing dimples he'd ever seen before he realized he was probably going to drool soon.

"Ah, so it's settled then?" He asked, turning around and grabbing the mop and bucket. A quick escape was what he had in mind, so he couldn't embarrass himself any further.

"It's settled." Winchester said, handing him a slip of paper as Dean walked to the door, praying his exit would go smoothly.  
Dean grabbed the piece of paper and wheeled his stuff out the door. As he was leaving, he craned his neck to look around the corner at Winchester, a question on his mind.

"Hey, Winchester?" He shouted.

"Yeah?" Came the amused reply.

"I don't even know your first name!" He shouted back.

"Sam!" Winchester said, laughing as Dean wheeled the mop back to the closet, where he totally didn't hyperventilate two seconds later. Nope.

A/N Review? Lemme know what you think so far! I'm thinking about continuing it as a longer story, not a two shot….TBC then! J


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Short update, but I promise more tomorrow! Believe me!

In honor of my beta, who face times me and texts me back to convince me some ideas are bad.

* * *

"What if he's not home?" Dean asked anxiously, pacing up and down the empty office while Misha watched, unimpressed.

"I mean, it's been like, three hours since school closed, but what if he went out to get a drink or something?" He asked, rubbing his forehead.

"I mean, what if he gave me a fake number? Maybe that's why he was laughing so hard. Oh God. I bet he was laughing at me." He sat down and put his head in his hands, groaning.  
"He's probably not even gay, Misha."

Misha laughed a little at that, sliding over to his friend.  
"Well, then I'm out forty bucks. You'll just have to convert him." Misha replied, smiling a little at his friend.

Dean didn't reply.

Misha got a serious look on his face. "No, seriously dude. I can't afford to lose this bet."

"Not funny, Misha." Dean groaned, slapping Misha on the arm.

"Man, what's up with you?" Misha asked. "I've never seen you like this."

"This?" Dean question.

Misha flopped his hand in Dean's general direction. "You know, all over the place over some guy. You weren't even like this when you dated Michael."

Dean frowned at the name, placing the small scrap of paper he'd been holding on to all day on the coffee table.

"I dunno man." He told Misha. "What am I gonna do?"

Misha smiled and rubbed his hands together.

"First off, you're going to grow a pair and call the damn guy, because if you ask me one more "what if" I'm going to rip your beautiful green eyes out and feed them to your cats."

Damn. Dean remembered Misha was kinda scary.

"Second, you're going to set up a date. An actual, romantic trip somewhere that isn't the inside of your car. Like dinner."

"Dinner?" Dean asked, making a face. "What would I wear?"

Misha laughed. "I love how that's your first question. C'mon, pick up the phone. Winchester's gotta be home by now."

Sam, Dean's mind said. His name is Sam.

Wasn't he just a cliche in a nutshell?

Misha tossed him his cell phone, small and black and yes, it was still a flip up phone, but c'mon. Nothing was more badass than hanging up on someone and slamming it closed like a boss.

Or so Dean thought.

He dialed the number slowly, making sure he got every number right so he wouldn't have to re dial. He was pretty sure if he screwed it up the first time, he wouldn't have the strength to call again.

The paper was a little grubby from where he'd been clutching it. He'd never admit that he held onto the little paper all day and had kept glancing at it, but that was what he had Misha for. Guy could lay anyone bare in seconds, for God's sake.

The phone thrummed slightly as it dialed, and it was pretty much all he could do not to hang the phone up. Misha's face was expectant, though, and Dean knew if he didn't "grow a pair" he'd never live it down.

"Yeah?" A sleepy voice answered, like sugar sweet honey to Dean. He actually took a second to categorize this as Sam's "sleepy voice" before he answered.

"Hey," he tried not to squeak. "It's Dean." He said, praying that the few words would get across to Sam.

"Hmmm," Sam said sleepily. "I don't know a Dean, sorry."

Dean'd heart stopped, and he swallowed quickly before answering. "Dean from school." He squeaked out, smacking Misha as the other man laughed behind his hand.

"Dude, chill." Sam laughed. "I was just teasing you."

Oh. Ohhhhhh.

"Hahaha." Dean laughed unconvincingly. "So..."

Misha made a face at him, gesturing for Dean to get on with it and ask Sam out.

Or at least, that's what he thought Misha's frustrated hand waving meant. He could have been saying something else.

"I was wondering..ah...if.." He stuttered.

"Yeah? You were wondering..." Sam's teasing voice lilted across the line.

"Ah..if..." He choked up, making the SOS sign at Misha.

Misha smacked him upside the head soundly, glaring at him.

"Ask him out, Dammit!" He whisper yelled at Dean.

"Did you wanna go to dinner tonight?" He asked, throwing it out there and praying with closed eyes.

A surprised laugh came from Sam. "Sure. You don't have to sound so constipated about it. What time were you thinking?" He asked so easily Dean almost fainted with relief.

"Ah, maybe an hour or so? I could pick you up." He said, trying to throw a little charm into the words. Not that he wasn't already sinking fast.

"That sounds fine, Dean." Sam said amusedly. What was up with this guy and laughing? He was always smiling when Dean mixed up. Jesus.

"There's a restaurant downtown, just opened up I think. I really like it so I'd thought we'd go there, but if you'd like something else, I'm cool with that, I mean, last guy I dated hated sushi but I love sushi and I never got to-"

He cut off when he saw Misha's face, a mix of disbelief and humor.

"I'm sorry," He told Sam, who was patiently listening. "I'm rambling a little, aren't I?"

Sam's laugh bubbled over the phone, causing even Dean to smile as he turned away from Misha.

"A bit." Sam admitted. "That's fine. I like your voice."

That made Dean turn bright red and almost drop the phone. Sam liked his voice?

"So, not to sound like a creeper," Dean started. "But where do you live?"

"Over on Parker's street, next to the Chinese food place." Sam said, and Dean nodded. He knew where that was.

"Alright, got it." He told Sam. "Actually, I've never done this before." He admitted shyly.

"Yeah, I got that." Sam said sweetly, tone anything but snobby.

"Well, I'll see you soon." Sam said. "Tell Misha I can still hear him giggling."

Dean blushed and turned to see Misha rolling on the floor, giggling slightly. He must have been to busy with the call to notice.

Misha's face was bright red, eyes bugging out as he tried to stop laughing. Apparently this was amusing to everyone but Dean.

"Ah, yeah I will." Dean said smirking. "I'll see you later?" He asked, metaphorically putting on his by boy pants.

"Yeah." Sam said, decidedly less sleepy than before.

"Bye!" He mumbled into the phone before snapping it closed and feeling badass. This was gonna work.

Maybe.

* * *

Sam wasn't nervous. Nope, not at all.

Okay, that was a lie. But, there was a high chance he wasn't as nervous as Dean.

The poor guy had barely managed to get the words "Wanna go to dinner" without stuttering.

He could hear Misha urging him on in the background as Dean awkwardly navigated the crazy path of asking someone out on date. Dean must not have had a lot of experience, but it was the cutest thing Sam had seen in a while.

He was pretty sure he almost preferred Dean's awkward chats to getting hit on.

Sam had laughed uncontrollably for a few minutes after the call ended before realizing that hey, he had a date in an hour.

So, the rest of that time had been spent imagining what Dean would wear (probably something plain, which was a shame because the man was gorgeous) taking a shower, and taking the mop of brown hair his mom liked to call "It."

Sam was pretty sure shed even named it once, but didn't know for sure.

His hair wasn't that bad, was it?

Now that he knew Dean wasn't a cold (asshole) janitor, Sam actually let himself smile at the thought of them going on a date together.

It was actually kind of cute. Dean would be polite, he was pretty sure. But once he loosened up, Sam would really get to know him. Which he hasn't done since Jessica...

He wasn't silly enough to believe he'd fall in love again so easily. No, he wouldn't forget Jessica.  
But was it bad that he hoped Dean wouldn't be forgettable either?

* * *

A/N Review? Maybe? :) Humm. Next chapter coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Update! I told you it was coming, right?

High five me and review! See you guys on Monday!

Dedicated to my lovely BumbleBeeBitch who should be reading this chapter. Love you!

* * *

Dean was late to Sam's house.

If he'd gotten a chance to explain why, he would've blamed it on Misha.

Because it totally was.

After Dean had hung up the phone and collapsed to the couch in a boneless heap, Misha had begun laughing so hard he needed his inhaler.

Which apparently meant Dean wasn't seeing the humor in this, because he was busy freaking out.

"Which tie?" He'd asked Misha once the other man had gotten his breath back, raising two ties next to his shirt.

"You sure you need a tie?" Misha asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, this isn't a formal occasion, per se."

Dean frowned and put the ties down, grabbing his watch and placing it on his wrist. So that meant no dress shoes then, right?

Misha looked him up and down and frowned slightly, making Dean feel like curling up in a ball.

The other man pointed at him. "You look like the time I got drunk and tried to cross dress in the men's department in Kohls."

"You're a guy." Dean said, confused.

Misha smiled. "Exactly. It didn't WORK." He put his hand on his chin, stroking the stubble there.

"You sure you don't have anything more….casual?"

Dean shook his head. "The only clothes I have are my work clothes and the formal stuff for funerals and all that."

Misha nodded. "Okay, so when's your date? An hour?"

"Yeah."

"So stay here for thirty while I run to the store and grab you some normal clothes." Misha said.

Dean got worried. "What am I gonna do for half an hour?" He asked Misha, flashes of showing up for Sam completely naked flitting across his mind.

"I dunno." The other man said. "Take a shower, whiten your teeth. Fantasize about Sammy." He said crudely, grinning like a hyena.

"I'll be back in like twenty minutes. Calm your tits."

Dean nodded, turning back around to throw the discarded shirts on the bed. "Okay."

Misha smiled his approval and darted out the door with a quick "Stay the fuck here, Dean." and left.

Dean sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands, trying to remember why this was happening.

Oh yeah. Misha.

Misha got back not twenty, not thirty, but forty-five minutes later, dashing into Dean's room where he'd been stewing for the last twenty minutes.

"Where were you?" Dean almost shouted, nervous and tense. "You've been gone for like a goddamn hour!"

"Chill. I'm just a little behind schedule." Misha said, rolling his eyes as he handed Dean a paper bag. "Try these on."

Dean grabbed the bag and rifled through the contents quickly. Something caught his attention.

"Misha, this is PINK!" He yelled, alarmed. "I can't wear pink!"

Misha rolled his eyes again. "Sure you can. Light pink shirt, nice jeans. You'll be perfect. Sam won't know what hit him." The other man frowned, then looked at his watch.

"You've got a date in ten minutes, better hop to, Casanova." He said as he laid down on Dean's bed.

Dean muttered to himself as he grabbed the bag and went to change in the bathroom.

It was something along the lines of "god I hate you so fucking much Misha, I hope you step on a Lego" but he never admit to understanding that reference.

He had to accept that while he wouldn't have chosen the pink shirt, it looked pretty good. The green in his eyes stood out more, and overall he actually looked a little happy. And hot.

"What?" Dean asked as he exited the bathroom to Misha's wide eyes.

He looked good, he knew that.

Then why was Misha making that face?

"Dude," Misha said in a strangled voice. "If I were gay..."

Dean scoffed. "You're not."

Misha's face got some if his humor back. "How do you know?" He asked petulantly, curling a finger up the side of Dean's sleeve.

"You're just not." Dean said, pushing Misha's attempt at seductiveness off and grabbing his jacket as he checked his watch.  
He realized the time and began to run down the stairs.

Misha followed him out to the car. "I could be if I wanted to!" He said irritably, glaring at Dean.

Dean took a deep breath and got in his car. Misha tried to open the other door, and got a look from Dean when it wouldn't open.

"You're the one who made me late, man." He told Misha, who looked like a puppy getting left at home. Damn blue eyes.

"Besides, this is a date, not threesome." He told him, using his best "daddy's going on a date" voice.

Misha actually blushed before removing his hand and making the universal "call me later and spill" hand gesture and running to his own car, long thin legs looking ridiculous.

Finally. Dean was on the way.

He checked his watch again and realized he was very very late. Ditching grounds late.

Gunning the car (his baby, a beautiful sleek '67 impala) he sped to Sam's address, crossing his fingers the man was still waiting.

* * *

Dean got there thirty minutes late, not end of the world terrible in most people's eyes, but terrible in his over stressed mind. What if Sam just gave up?

He refused to believe that would happen.

Most people would have told him he was overreacting about one date, but in a long history of having few dates, Dean had ended up putting a lot of his heart into his dates.

It was a bad habit, he knew, but when you were a slightly closeted gay guy working as a janitor at a kindergarten school, there really weren't a lot of options.

Sam's house was nice, a small one story building with actual goddamn flowers in the front yard. Flowers.

Dean shook his head as he sprinted out of the car, jumping up the steps to get to Sam's door quicker.

There was a small part of him that hoped Sam had left, so he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of the man.

The other part of his mind was mentally smacking himself for being late. Goddamn Misha.

Wait. What if Sam didn't like cursing? If he was one of those Jesus obsessed people who did crazy things like not touch the first date? At least, that's what he thought they did, right?

Dean began to breathe faster as he tried to calm himself down, ringing the doorbell and shifting from side to side.

The sound of footsteps made Dean's heart beat faster, and soon Dean could see a shadow in the glass. A tall shadow.

Sam's voice came through the door.

"I told you, Gabe, I'm going out tonight. I don't care if you think he's ditching, I'm waiting!" He said through the door, mistaking Dean for someone else. Wait, that guy thought he was ditching Sam?

Dean swallowed and raised his voice. "Actually, it's the guy you thought was ditching." He told Sam, praying the guy would listen. God, he was a terrible date. And Sam had defended him, apparently!

"What?" Sam asked excitedly, opening the door to show him standing there with wide, hopeful eyes.  
"You're here!" He cried, looking Dean up and down happily.

"I'm here." Dean admitted shyly, looking Sam over too.

The taller man was wearing a light blue button down, perfectly complimenting his light brown hair. His jeans looked fantastic, screw Dean if that was the first thing he thought. The man's legs were really long! How had he not noticed that?

Dean realized he'd been staring, and brought his gaze back up to Sam's, blushing.

"Like what you see?" Sam asked teasingly, looking Dean up and down obviously. "I do."

Dean smiled instead of sputtering and gestured to the door. "Sorry I'm late. Wanna get going?"

Sam nodded and followed Dean out, grabbing a dark jacket that outlined his arms perfectly-

Focus, Dean. He thought to himself. Think about the date more.  
No, don't do that. You'll worry again.

"You're not a crazy Jesus person by chance?" He blurted out, apparently missing that whole "watch what you say" thing.

Sam laughed. "No, I'm not. I'm actually atheist." He told Dean, folding himself into Dean's car.

"Wow." Sam said in admiration, running his hands along his baby's seats. "A '67, right? Man, nice ride. Marry me, now!"

Dean smiled. "Not legal yet here, Sammy." He said, flirting skills appearing out of nowhere. "You'll just have to dress up like a girl for the wedding." He told Sam seriously, eyes wide with innocence.

Sam threw his head back and laughed, musical chuckling echoing inside the car.

"Why do you assume I'm the bottom in this relationship?" He asked Dean seductively when he got his breath back.  
Dean blushed and drove a little faster, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

Yeah, this was gonna be a great date.

* * *

A/N Happy Friday everyone! Another chapter is on the way! See Y'all on Monday, and don't forget to leave me a review! :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N Dedicated to my wonderful vacuum, SirVacuumThe3rd, go check out their amazing profile story! And SHEEBA. Don't ask, unless you know. Like the story? Leave me a review! Also, if you're into angsty crobby, my Seperate Ways piece is being continued.

This chapter is a little different...good different, hopefully.

* * *

The ride was probably the most tension filled experience of Dean's life, which was counting the time his parents had forgotten he was in the backseat and decided to argue for the two-hour camping trip he'd been forced to go on all those years ago.

Though this was a good kind of tension.

Sam kept rubbing his knee against Dean's at the stoplight, making sparks fly across his eyes (and other places) to a point where he almost stopped the car.

The conversation in the car flowed easily, surprising Dean a little. Happily enough, Sam was a very interesting person and Dean found himself opening up and relaxing within the first ten minutes.

The restaurant Misha had chosen for them was a nice new little family restaurant, with a cute little "just opened" sign on the front window.

They arrived at the restaurant in one piece (thankfully) and grabbed a table near the front, smiling as their waitress walked up.

"Hi, I'm Marina, and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you guys off with some drinks?" She asked pleasantly, taking a notepad from the front of her apron as she looked them over, eyes staying on Dean for a second before ogling Sam.

"Yeah, I'll have a coke. What do you want Sam?" he asked the other man, taking his coat off as they slid into the booth.

"Pepsi." He smiled sheepishly at Dean. "Guess we can't get married now, huh?"

The waitress grinned a little at their antics, but took the orders down.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," She said, walking off towards the kitchen. "Lemme know when you wanna order."

Dean took a breath and brought his eyes up to Sam, heart beating fast as his brain finally caught up to his mouth.

He was on a date. With an extremely hot guy.

Dean took a sip of water to calm his nerves, wondering why his body chose now all of a sudden to get nervous. It wasn't like Sam was going to bite him or anything.

Right now, Sam was staring at him, blue-green eyes amused as always. His large hands were on the top of the table, warm looking and tan.

Dean wondered what he was gonna say.

"Dude," Sam said after a few seconds. "This isn't an interrogation. Just relax and talk."

He leaned in close like he was telling a secret. "Besides, you look like you're about to barf. Am I really that terrifying?" He asked seductively, breath hot against Dean's ear.

Dean spluttered at his words, leaning backwards in his seat and trying not to smile at Sam's grin. God, he had amazing dimples.

"You're not terrifying," he told Sam. "I just don't usually...date."

Sam nodded. "Me neither."

"Aren't we just a cute couple?" He asked Sam jokingly, admiring his throat as the other man leaned his head back and laughed.

"So, tell me about yourself." Sam said when he stopped laughing, leaning forward and staring Dean in the eye. "How'd you end up being a janitor?"

Dean sighed. "Well, it's a long story." He said, rubbing his ring.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "War and Peace long or just normal long?"

"Well, I guess both. Long story short, being a janitor is what I do. What about you? How'd you become a sub?" He asked Sam.

Sam smiled. "I've always loved teaching. Guess it kinda latched on. " he said simply, shaking his head a little.

"You've got a bit of an accent," Dean started. "You not from around here?"

He asked, wondering when he'd stopped being nervous. Maybe it was just Sam.

Sam nodded, taking a sip from his Pepsi. He got a far off look in his eyes, like characters in those sappy movies got sometimes.

Except Sam's was real.

"Another long story? Asked Dean.

"Yeah." Was the reply, then a quick silence.

"Dean," started Sam. "I don't think we can date."

Dean's heart stopped. He swallowed quickly, noting the serious look on his face. Things had been going well, what was it?

Was it him?

"Why?" Dean asked nervously.

"Well," Sam began, grin spreading across his face as the serious look fell from his features. "First off, you like coke and I like Pepsi, and second, you're prettier than me."

He waved his hand towards Dean. "I can't date someone prettier than me!"

Dean was gaping, heart hammering. How the hell did Sam keep scaring the living hell out of him?

They both laughed for a few seconds, eyes on each other as everything else seemed to fade away.

The waitress interrupted before Dean could answer with his rebuttal, swinging a hip around and showing off some nice cleavage.  
Too bad there was nobody at the table who was interested.

"You guys ready to order yet?" She asked, bringing out her notepad again.

Sam looked shocked, staring down at his menu like he'd forgotten it was there. "Ah…"

Dean cleared his throat. "Ah, we'll need a few more moments, please." He told her, watching Sam blush (and secretly loving it).

Sam laughed once she was gone. "I totally forgot we had to order something." He told Dean sheepishly, face still an adorable pink.

"Dude," Dean said. "I do it all the time."

He took the offensive. "So, what do you like to do?"

And so it began.

* * *

Sam loved to water-ski, apparently, had two dogs at home and worked at a bar part-time. Dean was pretty much taking in the facts on automatic, too enamored with the man in front of him to really pay attention to the other customers.

Sam was the same, he was pretty sure. When Dean was talking, his gaze often dropped to his lips, then flitting back to his eyes before Dean really noticed. It would have been a little creepy if it wasn't sort of hot.

Sam ordered them beers after dinner, a drink both of them could agree to. They both laughed raucously when Sam revealed he'd though Dean was a robot janitor.

Apparently Dean wasn't great with first impressions.

The night went on and they traded facts, stories and pet peeves. Dean's favorite of Sam's was his story of the time his friend fell asleep on the toilet while drunk.

"Dude," He'd said. "You should've seen him. I was like, 'Man, pull up your pants and get out of there!' But he wouldn't listen. I think that was when he fell asleep." Sam wrinkled his nose.

"So I had to crawl under the stall 'cause the door was locked. God was that floor dirty." He pointed at Dean, face the serious-like expression only tipsy people could get.

"You ever fall asleep in the can, I'm not waking you up. Husband or not." He said with a small smile, hair curling around his temples as the restaurant slowly warmed up with new customers.

He could already tell that was his next favorite thing about Sam.

A few beers later, Dean had been laughing so hard he was almost ready to grab Misha and kiss him. This was the best date ever, better than anything Michael had taken him on.

Frankly, Michael hardly went on dates anyway.

The only damper on the evening came around the end of their meal, when both of them were so into each other that even the waitress had gotten the clue, giving them that happy smile girls seemed to get when they saw gay guys together.

"So I asked Misha how he got to my house," Dean was saying. "And he didn't answer, just fell on my doormat and puked everywhere."

Sam laughed, rapping his hand against the table. People were staring a little bit, not in a bad way though. The two of them were sort of in a gold world of their own, a bubble that Dean never wanted to leave.

Sam made him feel warm, better than anything he'd ever felt. Dean knew right away this was big, whatever it was.

Stupid Disney love. It was fucking beautiful.

Sam stopped laughing suddenly, eyes tracking something over Dean's shoulder as his face lost its humorous expression.

"Sam!" Said a voice behind Dean.

Sam's face went white, and for the first time that night Dean saw fear in his eyes.

His features swiftly closed, eyes going dark as anger bled into them. What would make Sam act like this?

Dean turned quickly to find himself face to face with a blonde guy, ice blue eyes staring into Sam like daggers.

"Luke?" Sam asked quietly, face going dark. "What are you doing here?"

The man laughed, a sharp sound that jarred in Dean's ears. "Oh, not much. Just enjoying the night out."

Sam glared at him, eyes warning. "I meant here. In this town."

Luke raised his eyebrows slowly, looking at Sam like he was scolding a petulant child.

"I can't travel sometimes?" he asked Sam innocently, shit eating expression so stupid Dean wanted to punch it off his face.

Since when did he get angry impulses?

"And you've got a new friend." He crooned at Sam when he didn't respond. "You move quick."

Sam's face went even darker, if that was possible. "Shut up, Luke. Shut up now." He said angrily, cold fury lacing his voice like ice.

Luke's smile returned, and he patter Dean on the shoulder. "What's your name,_ bachgen_?" He asked Dean greasily, foreign word thrown out like a curse,

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Sam put a hand over his. "Shh, Dean. Don't give him what he wants."

Sam stood up, eyes tracking Luke as the man shifted a little, hand going to his pocket.

Dean saw Sam's eyes widen, but Luke only removed a paper.

He handed it to Sam, hand sliding against his in a way that made Dean want to bite it off. Didn't this guy know Sam was his?

Wait. His? Calm down, Dean. They were only on the first date, after all.

Sam read the paper quickly, intense eyes flashing back and forth swiftly, eyes flicking up to check on Dean every few seconds.

Luke watched it with a somewhat mocking grin which widened when Sam finished, looking up at Luke with anger in his eyes.

"I won't do this," Sam started, furious. "Take it and rip it up." he ordered Luke, who opened his mouth to respond.

A sharp language flowed out, one Dean couldn't recognize. Luke raised his eyebrows, speaking quickly at Sam who stood motionless, arms crossed.

Dean's confusion grew when Sam responded in the same language, angry inflection making the language like a weapon, though the words had no effect on Luke.

They spoke for a few seconds, not too long, but long enough that other people in the restaurant began to stare a little.

Sam cut off the conversation with a quick wave of his arm. "I don't care." He said, reverting back to English. "Leave."

Luke's face grew colder, but for some reason Sam's words had power over him. He took a few tentative steps back, eyes still on Sam's, but left when Sam turned back to Dean, face grim.

They both ignored the swinging of the bell as the door shut.

"So…." Sam started. "I'm guessing you wanna know what that was about?" he asked.

Dean shook his head wordlessly. "Dude, when you wanna tell me, that's fine. As long as he's not gonna hurt you." He said simply.

Sam's eyes widened. "Really? You don't wanna just, I don't know, leave?"

Dean shook his head again. Sam was kinda cute when it was his turn to gape.

"Why would I leave when we haven't gotten desert yet?" He asked with a grin, suspicions confirmed when he saw Sam break out into a smile.

He was a nice guy. Whatever Luke wanted didn't matter to Dean.

Sam's eyes were a little watery, but he still continued the joke, trying to regain his previous humor.

"Well, we wouldn't want you unsatisfied now, would we?"

* * *

A/N Leave me a review? Hopefully more is coming soon…..If no one liked the way this story went, let me know too. I really want to know.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Okay, this was a really hard chapter to pull together and get out. Thank you so much for you reviews and favorites! They make my day over and over. So, here's the next chapter for your weekend! See y'all next week!

* * *

They had another beer after dessert, paid their check and left in a good mood.

Dean didn't really know how to end the night, caught in a happy haze that was all Sam.

The other man was currently laid back in the Impala's shotgun seat, a small smile on his face appearing whenever he caught Dean's eyes.

Whatever the earlier fight had been about, it had obviously spooked Sam. Dean could tell.

He kept catching Sam looking at him incredulously, like he couldn't believe Dean hadn't left yet.  
It was kind of adorable. Why would Dean leave?

The ride went slow, good mood fading as both men realized they wanted to part company.  
Sam's house came into view a few minutes later, prompting Dean to frown and turn to Sam.

He was met with a matching frown, adorable puppy eyes flicking the "Awww" switch in the back of Dean's head.

"I don't know about you," Sam started. "But I'd really like a drink." He said, face hopeful.

Dean'd heart sputtered, but he grinned in reply.  
"I just got a new bottle of Maker's," he informed Sam. "You game, Sasquatch?"

Sam's answering smile was one of the largest he'd seen all night.

"Hell yeah!"

Sam watched his dark through the window for a moment, tapping Dean when he turned around.

"Let's get outta here."

Dean gunned the engine and grinned at the answering purr.  
"Just what I was thinking, Sammy."

They got to Dean's apartment a few minutes later, conversation rekindled once they knew thy were going to spend more time together.

It was strange for Dean especially, whose only close friend happened to be Misha.

Which probably explained so many things.

He already felt a connection to Sam, nothing too over the top Disney, but strange. Sam really got him, and vice versa.

Dean crossed his fivers as they made their way up the stairs to his apartment that bed left the apartment clean or at least decent. He really couldn't remember past the initial clothes freak out and Misha.  
Opening the door, he found the apartment spotless, cleaner than he'd seen it in years. Everything was placed away, and hell, it even looked like the floor was vacuumed.

Dean had to refrain from audibly gasping as he led Sam in nonchalantly, secretly freaking out on the inside.

Damn Misha, the fucker. His bottle of Maker's was sitting in the middle of his kitchen table, small note underneath it.

Dean walked forward while Sam put his coat on the hook, ripping the note out from under the bottle and cursing the scrawny little blue-eyed man.

_Don't do anything I wouldn't do!_

-Misha  
  
Dean shook his head, turning back to find Sam standing behind him patiently.

"Come on in!" Dean said a little late, eyeing Sam's coat on the hook.

Was it a little sad that that one action made him feel warm and fuzzy?

Slipping the note into his pocket, he herded Sam into his kitchen, sitting him down at the table while he uncorked the bottle and grabbed two glasses.

"Didn't figure you for a 'on the rocks' kind of guy, anyway." Sam muttered before sipping his bourbon, small smile on his face.

Dean laughed a little when Sam didn't flinch. The first time he'd taken a sip, he'd coughed so hard he'd been pretty sure he was gonna die.

Sam tipped his drink towards Dean's.

"Cheers."

* * *

"I can't take anymore," wheezed Sam, face red from laughing so hard.

"No way in hell is that shit true."

Dean put on his best "You think I'm lying?"" face, crossing his heart.

"Course it is." He said, taking another sip from his glass. They both had switched to water after a few hours, not wanting to face the monster headache most bourbon gave people.

Sam shook his head incredulously from side to side, eyes flashing.

"You actually put him in an ice bath after he passed out?"

Dean smirked. "We did even better, too. We took his clothes. Damn, that was some party." He tilted his head back, chuckling as he shared some of his best memories with Sam.

"He woke up all hung over at five thirty the next morning, and had no idea where the hell he was. Idiot decided to go running naked in the dark, hiding whenever somebody was nearby."

"We had no idea where he went we were laughing so hard. He kept ducking whenever he saw our car. Jesus," He took a breath.

"I haven't laughed this hard in years." He said sheepishly, loving the way Sam's laughter boomed even though it was close to 1 am in the morning.

"My college days were boring comparatively." Sam said, taking a drink from his glass. "You all must have had all the fun."

"Yeah, what'd y'all do?" Dean asked, blinking lazily at the man.

"Well, we had this shitty teacher, and nobody, I mean nobody, liked him." He said, pointing at Dean like this was very important.

"So, one day when he was out at a meeting, our whole floor broke in and TP'd his whole room. Three x-large packages of toilet paper later, it looked like College Christmas."

Dean hooted. "What'd he do when he found out?"

Sam chuckled, eyes far off. "He blew a fuse trying to get us in trouble. When he came home, his scream woke up the whole building. He tried to get us arrested, but of course, he couldn't prove anything."

Dean laughed, leaning on Sam's arm unconsciously, surprised when the larger man threw an arm around him, laughter rumbling through Dean."

They quieted after a second, instinctively turning towards the other.

"I had a nice time tonight, Dean." Sam said, quietly looking up through his eyelashes at Dean.

Dean smiled back, feeling like all he did was smile. Frowns? Nah, never heard of those.

The sweet man in front of him moved his hand, slowly running it up Dean's back as both men held perfectly still.

They made eye contact, unsure and yet decided before they knew it, lips crashing together suddenly, letting out breaths they hadn't known they were holding.

Dean grabbed Sam's arms, loving the texture of muscle under them as he kissed Sam, going slow, fast, fast.

He lost himself in the feeling of the other man's lips, soft hair under his fingers. God, Sam had beautiful hair, even if it was a little girly.

Sam made a little noise in the back of his throat when Dean pulled away, worried look dissolving as he saw Dean walking towards the bedroom.

"You coming, or are you not manly enough?" Dean asked, shaking his hips a little as he turned the corner, knowing the jab would have Sam following him in a second.

Sam's response was amazing.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Dean and the counterpart!" Came an annoying voice, jarring Dean awake from warm, happy dreams.

He tried to roll over, momentarily surprised when he felt Sam's arm over his waist, sleeping man holding on tight.

He craned his neck up, trying to see who'd spoken.

Of course, it was Misha, bright smile on his face as he sat on Dean's windowsill.

"Remind me why I gave you a key to my apartment again?" He grumbled at the man, surprised when Sam didn't wake.

Huh. Heavy sleeper.

Misha smirked. "Because I know how to work your coffee machine?"

Dean conceded. "Fair point. Is that what I smell?" He asked, eyes going wide. "Misha, is there coffee?"

Misha laughed at him, blue eyes flashing in the early morning light. "Sure is, Dean. But can you escape the warm, muscular mess that is Sam Winchester first?"

Dean frowned, tapping Sam on the shoulder. "Sam, wake up."

Sam didn't make a noise, still breathing heavily as his arms constricted around Dean.

Dean glared at Misha. "Do something."

Misha cupped his hands next to Sam. "Hey, Winchester! Wake up!"

Sam snuffled and rolled over, taking Dean with him. He blearily opened his eyes to see Misha staring at him.

"Deaaaaann," Sam whined, still half asleep. "I'm dreaming about Misha. This is so not cool."

Dean laughed at his lover, playing with his hair. "You're not dreaming. He's actually here, in my room."

Sam grumbled, shutting his eyes. "No Mishas in our house when we get married." He said, letting Dean go and sitting up in bed, yawning hugely.

Dean caught Misha staring at Sam's naked chest as he yawned, muscles rippling as he stretched. He was pretty sure he saw the blue-eyes man drooling a little too.

"Misha." He warned, getting up and throwing on his jeans. "Mine."

"I can't even look?" Misha whined, sounding a lot like Sam.

"Nope."

Sam got out of bed too, throwing on his discarded jeans as he looked (down) at Misha.

"Can you cook?" he asked matter of factly.

Misha nodded, awestruck at his height. Apparently, he'd never been right next to Sam before.

Sam turned to Dean. "We can keep him if he cooks breakfast."

Dean smiled, reaching and tousling Misha's hair.

"Well?" he asked when the shorter man made no move. "What are you waiting for?"

They both laughed as Misha walked towards the kitchen, flipping them the bird as the two men followed.

* * *

A/N Alright, new chapter coming hopefully on Monday. I high five myself for getting this one out, honestly. Holy crap. Thanks for your reviews again, people!


	8. Chapter 8

JNSQ Part Eight

A/N Okay, short(er) update….I know it's late. Stupid real life. Also, got caught up in a marvelous RPF J2 that was like 200,000 words long. So awesome :(

* * *

Misha turned out to be a great cook, coincidentally.

Between shoving cups of coffee into the sleepy men's hands, whipping a bowl of eggs like a pro and chopping up the one onion that survived Dean's kitchen, it was overall a nice breakfast.

Misha kept sending Dean funny, quirky smiles, like he was congratulating him for getting laid.

Seriously. It wasn't like Dean was CELIBATE. It just happened to have been a really long dry streak for him.

Realllyy long.

Those depressing thoughts disappeared as Misha swept a plateful of scrambled eggs underneath Dean's nose, making his morning-dampened senses flare to life. He saw Sam gasp, then begin to eat. Dean followed suit, grabbing the offered fork and shoveling in.

They both made sounds of contentment as the food hit their tongues. Hot damn, where had Misha learned to cook like this?

Sam moaned again, loud and a little overemphasized. Dean was pretty sure he didn't even know he was doing it, but it still made a tingle run down his spine as he remembered last night.

"Wow, guys," Misha said, smirking as he hopped up on Dean's counter, folding lotus style. "You keep making noises like that, I might have to initiate a hot threesome."

Sam sputtered, but to his credit, didn't choke. "Where on earth did you get that idea?" He asked Misha jokingly when he could speak. "Aren't you and Dean like BFFs?"

Misha glared, blue eyes narrowing at Sam. "Less talking, muscle man. More posing." A thought ran across his face. "Oooh, and grunting!"

Sam shook his head, missing the mortified look Dean shot at his friend. This was not how the buddy system worked.

"Well, this is great, Misha. Where in the hell did you learn to cook like this?" He asked, steering the conversation oh so smoothly away from Sam.

"An ex," Misha said, grin so wide Dean thought it would split his face. "She loved cooking so much she made me sign up for classes."

Sam nodded at this, and Dean was surprised to see his plate almost empty. Well, the other man did shovel away tons of food last night. He shouldn't be surprised.

Sam turned to Dean then, body shining slightly in the disney-perfect sunrise. "I think we can keep him." He stage-whispered at Dean, eyes wide.  
Dean smothered a giggle, nodding back seriously at Sam. "But only if he cooks all the time. I can't cook to save my life."

Misha laughed then. "Damn straight. Remember the time you tried to make pancakes on the coffee burner?"

Dean frowned at the memory. "I saw it on the internet. It looked real!"

"So did my High School ID. Doesn't mean it was!"

Dean shook his head. "I don't even wanna know, man."

Sam laughed at them, head tipping back, and both men paused to watch the man laugh, entranced by something a little too special to believe.

That was kind of a scary thought.

Sam finished laughing and found both of them staring. "Do I have something on my face?"

Misha shook his head, blushing. "Nothing, it's just…you remind me of someone."

Dean titled his head quizzically at him, but the other man missed it. Oh well.

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by the beginning of a song coming from his cell phone.

"I'VE BEEN WAIIITTIINNNGGGG….FOR A GIRL LIKE YOU…." blared Foreigner out of the phone as Sam quickly got up, patting his jeans pockets to find it.

"Fuck," He murmured, flipping it open (Sam had a flip cell phone too! Dean wasn't that uncool!) and angrily checking the caller ID.

He turned to Misha and Dean. "I gotta take this. Sorry guys. Five minutes?"

Sam walked away without an answer, clicking a button furiously and sharply greeted the caller.

"Yeah?" He said, ducking around a corner. While Dean and Misha couldn't see him, they could still hear his voice.

Angry squeaking came over the phone line, sounding like that strange language Dean had heard last night.

Sam responded in kind again, voice like music as the language flowed out. Misha's eyes went wide as he heard it.

"I've never known someone else who's spoken french in town before!" Misha exclaimed surprisingly, leaning to hear better.

Dean grabbed his arm, spinning the man to face him. "He's speaking french?"

Misha nodded. "Yeah. Pretty good french too."

How had Dean not caught that last night?

"You understand it?"

Misha nodded again. "I was an exchange student for three years. Only place they'd dare to send someone like me.

What were the odds Misha and Sam spoke the same language?  
"What is he saying?" He asked Misha, watching the other man's lips mouth the words along with Sam.

Misha's eyes went wide as something Sam said shocked him. He paled visibly, turning to Dean slowly.

"Holy crap."

Dean felt a burst of anxiety. "What? What is it?"

Dean felt an almost protective streak well up inside of him, like a child receiving its first toy. Sam was HIS, not Misha's just because they spoke the same language.

Jesus. He sounded like a jealous boyfriend already.

Misha just shook his head, eyes still wide as they listened to Sam.

Sam finished his call and hung up, retreating back to the table with a fake smile on his face.

Misha stepped forward, calculating look on his face.

"Vous parlez très bien français." He said to Sam casually, eyeing the other man almost suspiciously.

Sam replied without thinking, language flowing as he responded. "Merci. Quoi de neuf?" He said normally. A few seconds later his eyes went wide.

"You speak french, Misha?!" He exclaimed, looking at Misha questioningly. The other man shrugged.

"Not as well as you. I was an exchange student."

Dean held up his hands. "Waitttttt a second. Since when is everyone a foreigner but me? Someone forget to give me the 'we all secretly joined the french-speaking club'?" He asked quickly, wondering how well Sam's accent had been covered up.

Sam smiled at him sweetly. "I'm sorry, Dean. I meant to tell you. I was an exchange student, like Misha."

Misha frowned his head at Sam. "Like hell you were an exchange student. You speak it almost perfectly!"

Sam shook his head at Misha, small smile on his face. "I'm just really good with languages."

Dean stared at Sam. "Weird language to be good with. How do you make that sound in the back of your throat?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Both men demonstrated, and suddenly the tense moment was gone. Dean didn't even ask what the angry phone call was about, but he planned to ask Misha later.

Sam laughed when Dean tried to copy the wet sound, showing Dean with his mouth in a way that kinda made Dean wanna push Misha out the door and drag Sam back to bed.

Sadly, dreams didn't always come true. Especially ones concerning awesome morning sex.

Misha left a half hour later, saying he had papers to file. Dean was pretty sure he left just so Dean couldn't worm out of him what Sam had said on the phone. Conniving bastard. He knew Dean better than Dean did sometimes.

Dean laid on the couch, Sam next to him as they both watched the TV, encompassed by morning cartoons. It had been Sam's idea, and Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd actually sat down and watched cartoons.

Sam was kind of like a little kid, fluffy hair flopping down into his face every so often as he tried to watch the TV. Dean had to excuse himself after Sam kept blowing it out of his face, expression making Dean laugh so hard he might've needed to borrow Misha's inhaler.

It was just too damn cute.

Sam seemed reluctant to leave an hour later, something that made the insecure part of Dean that was still pretty sure the date was going to flop (was it still a date the next morning?) and leave him in an even more insecure wreck.

He smiled sadly at Dean around noon, quoting some regimen he had to do. Dean waved him out the door, happy that everything had gone so well. Time to break out the victory music.

He had just thrown on "Hells Bells" when someone knocked on the door quickly, shocking him out of his music induced happy mood.

He opened the door to Misha's alarmed face.

"What?" He asked worriedly. "Are you going to tell me what he said now?"

"Dean," Misha huffed a little breathlessly. "I know who Sam is now."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?" He asked. "He a drug dealer or something?"

Misha shook his head, eyes serious as the bored into Dean's.

Something was up.

"Dean, he's the crown prince of Belgium." Misha said sharply.

"Sam's the freaking Royal Highness."

* * *

A/N Aaaahh...plot twist. Like? No like? *Grins terrified*

Next update should be soon...maybe? This worth continuing?

*sobs quietly*


	9. Chapter 9

A/N So, here is the next chapter. Thank you so much for your…er…persuasive reviews. While I'm cool with incest, I also discovered I'm cool with bodily threats towards my person too, apparently. Though all reviews are appreciated. Seriously.

* * *

Dean had a hidden sarcastic streak.

It didn't show up often, especially not in public. He was usually quiet and polite to everyone, never voicing his real opinion.

Sometimes, he opened his mouth and words just came out. It wasn't a big deal, but sometimes he didn't think, and Boom. Like right now.

"Yeah, and I'm the fucking king of England." He told Misha sardonically, not catching the wince of the other man.

"Dean, I'm serious." Misha told him, and it took him a few seconds to see the truth in his friend's eyes.

Misha was not bullshitting him.

Dean laughed nervously, running a hand back over his hair.

"What are you going to tell me next, that I'm long lost royalty? Give me an amazing makeover?"

Misha glared at him. "Stop it with the sarcasm. I'm not kidding!"

Dean shook his head at him in denial.

"He speaks French for gods sake. How is he the prince of freaking Belgium?"

Misha sighed at Dean, impatiently shoving past him into the apartment.

"That's the main language in Belgium, Dean."

"I thought they spoke...Belgian?"

Misha rolled his eyes. "Look what you've learned. No, they mainly speak French with a little Dutch. But that's not the point!"

"Oh, so what is it then? Is this like those camera shows? Am I getting punk'ed or something?"

Misha's face went slightly red, which halted Dean's train of sarcasm in its tracks.

"Sam is a prince." Dean murmured when Misha didn't say anything. "Forgive me if I'm not inclined to believe you right away. Where's your proof?"

Misha rummaged around in his jean's pocket, holding a finger up. With a small sound he revealed his phone, unlocking it into an open web browser.

"See here?" Misha said, turning the phone towards Dean. Sure enough, a somewhat fuzzy picture of Sam was there above the caption "Prince Samuel visits prime minister." Squinting, he saw Sam's large hand around an older man's, smile turned just right so the cameras could capture the moment.

Well god damn.

He turned to Misha, who looked impatiently back at him. "Are you convinced now?" He asked Dean.

Dean had no words, could only shake his head and stare at the picture.  
All the pieces sort of fell into place then, the way the jenga pieces did when the whole tower toppled because of one small piece.

"I fucked a prince." We're his first words.

"What?" Misha exclaimed, confused. "What?" He repeated.

"I slept with royalty." Dean said. "I'm not sure whether to be proud or fearing for my life."

Misha looked confused, but Dean was still going on.

"Do you think the royal secret service are going to take me away?"

"The hell are you talking about Dean?" Misha asked him, waving a hand in front of his face.

Dean pointed at the picture still being displayed on the cell phone.

"You know, in those books where it turns out someone's a prince, and all the media wants to find you and people want to kidnap you so the royal police or whatever take you away and then it turns out the royal life is really hard so then the couple breaks up but the prince does something really nice for the person and then they get together again and have tons of royal babies? Except I can't have kids. Do you think Sam would want a puppy instead?"

He asked, forgetting he was rambling until he saw Misha's dumbstruck face.

"Dean," Misha said after a second of staring. "Fucking breathe, goddamn it! What are you talking about?"

Dean gestured weakly at the TV behind him. "You know, in all the stories and movies where this shit happens and it always goes the same way-same plot twist and ending. Misha!" He yelled suddenly. "I don't want to be a fucking plot twist!"

Misha looked alarmed, but grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him down on the couch, grabbing a blanket.

"What are you doing with that blanket?" Dean asked Misha after a second.

"I didn't do anything wrong, I swear!"

Misha sighed loudly, covering up Dean's feet. "I'm trying to prevent you from going into shock. Jesus. I need a drink."

Dean looked at the kitchen table.

"I think there's some….no, Sam and I drank it all. Oh yeah! So, it turns out he likes Foreigner, which I'm like totally cool with, but they're like really old now, so I'm not sure that's cool-."

He paused as Misha smacked himself on the forehead. "Are you always like this in a crisis?"

Dean smirked at him. "I like to call it my own special type of denial." He said sweetly, ignoring the murderous look Misha gave him.

"Well, I have to go…" Misha said, looking only slightly reluctant to leave Dean. "I have to go…ah..file."

Dean sighed. "You always have to file. I just found out my possible boyfriend is a Belgian prince, and you leave? Some friendship we have, huh?" He asked loudly, knowing he sounded childish but really not caring.

"Just don't do anything crazy. I'll see you on Monday, and in one piece, kay?"

Dean whined. "Do you really have to go?"

"Yes." Misha said only a little too fast. "Absolutely."

"Fiiine."

Misha paused at the door. "You totally just transformed into a five year old, dude." He said, smirking as Dean settled down into the blankets. "Call me if you need anything."

The door slammed, and Dean was on his own again. Hopefully no one would disturb him this time, especially not with news about princes. Dean had some acceptance he had to get on.

Two days later, Dean was in full freak out mode, and it really was Misha's fault this time.

The teacher who Sam had been covering for was still MIA, and Sam was mysteriously called on to stay indefinitely. Dean only knew this because Misha had been chattering in his ear the second he walked into school Monday morning, and it seriously wasn't helping his mood.

He was down in the basement again, not really because there was anything to fix down there, mostly because it was the least likely place Sam would ever step into. He knew it was childish to hide out-he'd been ignoring calls from his mom for ages, he knew childish-but the whole kerfluffle that was Sam scared the living crap out of him. Was his name something really different? Were there a lot of titles people called him?

Did he even care for a "commoner" like him.

Dean had guilty pleasures like anyone else, and one of his biggest, most secretest ones was sappy movies and books.

So when his love life ended up looking like a "Royal Complications" screenplay, Dean had a (very) small freak out in his bathroom, which included a carton of ice cream, his favorite blanket (the one that had fluff sewn into it) and the latest episode of Downtown Abbey on his phone. By the time he came out three hours later, he still hadn't come to conclusions with anything.

Actually, he was still pretty convinced Misha was making it all up, but on the odd chance it was true…..

So, Dean was in the basement hiding from one of the sexiest men he'd ever slept with because he may or may not be a prince and that was scary to Dean.

It really was.

A couple hours later, Misha had drawn him out with a promise of homemade pie in the office (he lied, that fucker) and by the time Dean had gotten there, the office looked deserted.

Walking in, he nearly let loose a squeak as he saw a familiar looking body standing at Misha's desk, throwing a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't make noise.

It was Sam. Talking to Misha. Ten feet from him.

Holy crap.

He fumbled with his keys, opening the janitor's closet he knew was about two offices over. Getting the lock open, he looked furiously over his shoulder as Sam's voice got clearer.

"I don't know why he's ignoring me, I've sent him texts, but.." Sam was saying. "Thanks so much for inviting me down here, anyways. You're sort of awesome, Misha."

Misha was grinning like a bastard, knowing Dean was screwed. He had his legs up on his desk like he owned the place (he sort of did) and Dean wanted nothing more than to throttle him.

Throwing open the door, he leapt inside, only to be hit with a face full of mop, which turned into a bucket to the knees and suddenly he was on the floor.

Grabbing the door, he locked himself in, praying the noise he'd made wasn't too loud. Hearing footsteps outside, he knew his prayers weren't answered.

"Dean?" Sam asked, shoes stopping outside the door. "What the hell are you doing in the janitor's closet?"

Dean didn't reply, putting a fist in his mouth. Damn it his knee hurt.

"You haven't been answering my texts, Dean." Sam said.

Oh yeah. Those texts. He'd been too caught up in freaking out to really notice.

"Was it something I did?" Sam asked, voice hurt. Dean was torn between self preservation and wanting to leap out and tackle Sam, which were both not ideal situations.

He resisted that urge and sat in the dark, smelly closet instead of jumping his sort of boyfriend who was really hotter than he should be.

Sam sighed, but the shoes didn't leave. "Dean, this is childish. Why are you hiding in a closet?"

Dean didn't reply.

"I mean, if it's me, that's fine, but won't you just tell me what's wrong?"

Nothing.

Sam sighed again, sounding extremely frustrated. Dean realized that was probably because of him.

Whoops.

The bell rang then, and whatever god had yelled "fuck you" at him earlier was obviously sending a consolation prize.

Sam tapped his foot, seeming to decide if he should go to his class. Dean bit down on his fist again to keep from laughing. He was like an impatient puppy.

"I'm gonna go," Sam said irritably. "Try calling me later if you're gonna grow up! I just wanna talk." The last part was said softer, and Dean could almost remember the puppy eyes, and the face, the shoulders, the ass-

Yeah, not a great time to have a fantasy. Though it wouldn't be the weirdest place he'd had one.

Sam's shoes left, and Dean let out a breath. Misha walked up then, heels clicking together ostentatiously.

"Damn, Dean." Misha said.

Dean clunked his head on the inside of the door.

"I know."

* * *

A/N Another chapter coming…maybe? Is this the right way, fan fiction? Should this just end? J Please leave me a review with what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

JNSQ10

A/N Surprise update, mostly due to the amazing reviews I got. For if-llamas-could-fly and EmilyOlga, who are persuasive and inspired this little interlude. Thanks to my beta, who still isn't agreeing with me that tonight's ep will be awesome. Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review!

* * *

Dean managed to avoid Sam for another week. It wasn't easy, no. Hiding from a sasquatch in a public school the size of some suburban backyards was sort of easy, but there were only two exits, and Sam was smart.

He would stand at them every day, switching exits every other day, waiting for Dean to exit. He'd pace, check his phone, and sit his pretty ass down and wait. It was adorable, like everything else Sam did, but after a few days it was freaking Dean out.

"Misha!" He hissed at the secretary as he rounded the corner, spotting Sam at the south exit. "I don't know how much more of this I can take!"

Misha looked at him disparagingly. "You made your bed, you gotta-"

"Lie in it, I know." Dean finished irritably, having heard it many times that week.

"Why are you on his side anyway?" He asked the other man, pushing him back to Misha's office as he surreptitiously tried to see if Sam had caught them.

So far, so good.

"Because you're being an idiot." Misha told him. "He's like, perfectness incarnate, and you're ignoring him because he might be royalty?"

Dean blushed a little, pacing Misha's office. "I just don't know what to do."

Misha smirked. "I thought you were fine with avoiding him? What were your words two days ago? 'I'm not a fucking gold digger, Misha?"

"That's not fair. I didn't know he was going to act like a goddamned puppy! I mean, this has gotta be some form of stalking, right?"

Misha shook his head, smiling at Dean. "Can't a man just enjoy standing outside one of two randomly chosen school exits for an indefinite amount of time?"  
Dean threw the stress ball Misha kept on his desk at the other man's head, missing terribly.

Oh well.

After dodging, Misha sat down at his desk, grabbing a lollipop from his locked drawer.

Dean immediately sensed the candy, knowing Misha was just going to use it for his own despair, but the thought of sweet candy after a week of eating warm peanut butter sandwiches in the basement had his taste buds watering.

"Gimme!" He said, voice coming out a little higher than he intended. "And don't pretend I don't know what you're doing! You want me to go out there and talk to him, don't you?"

Misha just smiled coyly, unwrapping the lollipop pornographically and waving it slowly in front of Dean.

"Fuck you. I didn't want your candy anyways." Dean told him, pointedly ignoring the winning smirk Misha was wearing. He really hated the man when he won.

Misha said nothing, raising his eyebrows and his other hand, counting down until Dean snatched the candy.

"Five, four…" Misha started, twirling the stick of the lollipop in his hand.

Dean held firm, knowing the candy was his weakness. Why had he ever told Misha candy was his kryptonite? It really was coming back to bite him.

"Three, two…" Misha said, and Dean could feel the little rumble of his stomach. His mouth was on overdrive, watering so obscenely that a bit of drool escaped his mouth.

He quickly licked his lips, hoping Misha didn't notice but knowing he probably did.

"One….." Misha said, and Dean gave in. Striding over, he snatched the candy away from Misha, putting it in his mouth and groaning.

"Well," Misha said, smiling in victory. "Guess I win again."

Dean pointed at him. "Don't forget about that one time in the bar over on State street. I totally saved your ass."

Around the candy, it came out mostly as "Don' frt bout that ontm en the bawt oer on stet stret. I totally sevved yoass."

Misha nodded, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Sure you did. Now go talk to loverboy."

Dean didn't whine, at least. Opening Misha's office door, he walked out to the school's south foyer, spying on Sam through the glass.

He was standing where he always was, leaning against the brick underneath the school's sign.

Dean wondered if Sam's dog missed him, or if that one guy (Gary, something like that?) was taking care of it.

Dean remembered that Sam loved his dog, and wouldn't leave him alone unless he really needed to do something.

That thought made Dean pause for a second, and instead of half-heartedly muttering an apology to Sam like he'd planned on doing, maybe he'd actually just talk to the poor bastard.

I mean, Dean thought It's gotta be freaking cold out there.

It looked cold. Sam was wearing a really nicely cut jacket, black material slim around his hips before flaring out in the front, making Sam's figure even more nice to look at.

The only way he would look better is without clothes, but Dean was pretty sure Sam wasn't into exhibitionism, and even if he was, it was a little cold out.

Scratch that. The thermometer next to the door said it was negative two. How in the hell was that possible?

Dean was pretty sure it'd only been, ah, thirty for the last few weeks? It couldn't have been this cold all week, right? And Sam would've gone home if it got too cold, right?

He ran back to Misha's office, feeling alarmed and a little guilty.

"Misha?" He asked, partially glad that he was still there and pissed off that he was waiting on Dean. "How cold was it this week?"

Misha frowned. "I thought you were talking to Sam-"

He shushed him, not even noticing the nervous tic before it happened. "How cold was it this week?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Just answer the goddamned question, Misha!"

Misha paused. "Well, it was pretty cold out this week. They almost cancelled school all week because it was getting pretty low below zero. Why? Don't you pay attention to the emails?"

Dean didn't reply, just ran back out to the south door, throwing it open. Jesus, this was all his fault, and even if Sam was a prince, frostbite didn't look good on anyone, not even someone like Sam-

Grabbing Sam's (muscular, purred his lizard brain) arm, he dragged the older man back into the school building, surprise and adrenaline the only thing pulling Sam with him.

Sam turned around, face a mix of anger and irritation before it shifted to surprise.

"Dean?" He asked, eyes doing that whole mushy thing where Sam looked at him like the world had just crashed and burned and Dean had just put it back together with nothing more than the power of his own awesome.

Yeah, he was rambling. In his head. He took his eyes off of Sam's long enough to realize the other man had been talking to him, mouth moving as Dean admired his lips.

Yeah, those would definitely not look good blue.

"I mean, you haven't even talked to me in a week!" Sam was saying, getting a cute little irritation line in between his eyebrows. "And I know you hid in that supply closet last week. What the heck?" He said as Dean put a finger to his lips, effectively shushing him.

"You've been standing outside the school for the last week?" He finally asked, locking eyes with the taller man.

Sam frowned even more, pretty little mouth opening in surprise, like that was the last thing Dean was going to say.

"Yeah…..why?"

Dean smacked him on the side of the head, getting a surprised "Hey!" for his troubles.

"What was that for?" Sam asked, holding his head like it hurt (maybe it did, Dean'd never been on the receiving end of one before).

Dean pointed at the thermometer, dramatically staring at it to make his point. "Do you know how fucking cold it is outside?"

Sam looked at the thermometer bashfully, and Dean was pretty sure if he'd had circulation in his body he'd have been blushing right now.

"Ah, slightly chilly?" Sam asked after a second, shuffling the snow off of his boots.

Dean held a hand up in warning, and Sam shifted away, rubbing the spot Dean had hit.

"Okay, fine!" Sam said. "I was waiting for you."  
"You don't think I know that?" Dean asked. "I'm asking why you thought it was a good idea to freeze your pretty little ass off!"

He continued. "I mean, sure, waiting around for a ride is great, but I know you have a car AND dogs, and you shouldn't be standing around in-"

He stopped as Sam started smiling, which was probably the opposite reaction Dean got when he yelled at people.

Pausing, he frowned. "Why are you smiling?" He asked. "You could've gotten frostbite, or hypothermia, or something-"

Sam cut him off. "You were worried about me?"

Dean shook his head. "I didn't say that."

Sam shook his head, eyes mock-serious. "I think you did. I think you also said I had a great ass."

Dean grew horrified, realizing that he totally had said all that. Whoops.

That totally should've been his quote underneath his high school picture.

Dean crossed his arms, knowing it was a psychological reaction and not really caring. "So what? If you died from something and I had to drag your body back because I'm the only person here and it's always the janitors who get killed in those zombie shows, isn't it? Self preservation, man!"

Sam shook his head, grin so white Dean sort of leaned in to see it better. "Alright. So you weren't worried about me, then why are we here?"

Cause you're a Belgian prince (maybe) and Dean hated confrontations?

"Ah," He said, smacking his "ramble" switch in the back of his head, but no dice. "I wanted to apologize for hiding in a broom closet?"

Sam nodded. "And?"

Dean looked at his feet, blushing when Sam started using his teacher voice. "Ah, and I promise never to not call you and ignore you for a whole week or two because you're super special and awesome and I'm just a conduit to your awesomeness?"

Sam nodded. "That'll do."

Dean sighed. "Goddamn Misha." He muttered under his breath.

Sam just smirked like he'd heard and pulled his coat around him a little more. Even though it was warm in the school, Sam was still shivering.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, trying to copy his "I am a scary tall teacher fear me" look. "What are you going to apologize for?" he asked.

Sam blushed now, which was a good sign that circulation was back.

"I'm never going to stand outside in the middle of the coldest week on record here because I might just catch you leaving forever and ever again, amen?"

And Dean thought he was the funny one.

"That'll do." He said, repeating Sam's earlier words.

"So," He started. "Where does this leave us?"

"Dinner?" Sam asked hopefully, and goddamn if the puppy eyes weren't back.

Dean sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

Sam shook his head. "Considering this is the first time we've talked in weeks, I'll call it your retribution and leave it at that."

"What, you can't just wait till later to have your justice?" He asked, making an obscene face and air quotes around 'justice'.

Sam didn't blush, but smacked him on the arm. Leaning in, he whispered in Dean's ear.

"When, not if, I have my retribution, the whole fucking town's gonna hear it." he said, breath blowing down Dean's ear to his throat.

Holy shit.

"Uh huh." Dean said, cursing the person who made Sam Winchester's voice the biggest turn on ever.

Sam pulled away. "Yeah." He stated, eyeing the way Dean's knees totally didn't start quivering a little.

Goddamned Misha. That should've been his high school quote.

Sam opened the door, gesturing for Dean to exit. "You coming?"

Sam gave him a smirk, hair beginning to wave around his face as the wind blew outside.

"Only if I get to drive." He said, trying to earn his masculinity points back.

"Hell no!"

* * *

A/N Okay, that was cute! Reviews, anyone? They are the (insert metaphor about how freaking awesome they make my life here)

More soon?


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Okay, so another chapter! Thank you to all your reviews! Word of warning, it gets darker.

* * *

Dean texted Misha as soon as they got to Sam's car. True love or not, he wasn't leaving his Impala in the school parking lot overnight. Misha knew where he kept his spare set of keys, anyway.

After getting the go ahead from Misha (along with a very suggestive emoticon) he turned his attention back to Sam, who was staring at the wheel, waiting.

"Where should we go?" Sam asked Dean, looking flushed with excitement. Dean's inner teenage girl fainted at the idea of spending time with Sam. The whole "avoiding the really hot guy because you don't want to be a gold digger" strategy was really overrated anyways.

"Well, I could be the guy that goes 'I know this one place around the corner' but in all honesty the only place I know is the McDonald's three blocks over." Dean admitted.

He really was an impressive date.

Sam's smile was still adorable, even though he'd seen it numerous times. His hair was curling up a little from the heat in the car, little drops of water sliding down his neck in a way that was totally unfair to Dean.

"Well..." Sam started, and Dean found himself praying they wouldn't go to some fancy restaurant.

"I could go for some French fries."

There. Right there. That was when Dean was pretty sure Sam was perfect.

Mental Dean, who loved greasy food, did a mental tap dance while real Dean just smiled back at Sam and smacked the back of his headrest.

"Let's go, Sammy boy!" He said, laughing with Sam as his stomach rumbled loudly.

Sam turned the car on, pulling out of the parking lot slowly. "You sound hungry."

Dean grimaced, remembering the last thing he'd eaten. If he remembered right, it was that damn peanut butter sandwich around noon.

"Yep." He replied simply.

Sam nodded, face going thoughtful as some obviously deep idea ran across his big brain. "So, why were you avoiding me?"

Dean blushed at the memory, frantically trying to come up with a believable reason besides 'Misha told me you were royalty and I freaked because I freak out about a lot of stuff, haha?'

"Ah," he started. "I just needed a little space." He said, cringing as Sam frowned at the overused cliched line.

"Really?" Sam asked doubtfully. "Cause I talked to Misha.."

Dean froze. "What did he say?"

Sam grinned a little. "I'm not telling you."

Dean smacked him on the arm. "Childish! That's what you are!"

Sam put on a fake-hurt face. "Ouch. You're a really violent person, you know?"

Dean smacked him again. "No I'm not."

Sam paused at a red light. "Dude, you totally are. I'm gonna have a bruise on my head from where you smacked me."

Dean crossed his arms. "It was your own stupid fault for almost getting hypothermia." He said defensively. Realizing what Sam was doing, he sighed internally as saw the taller man moving the topic away from the last few weeks.

Another reason why he liked Sam Winchester.

"Sure, buddy." Sam said, pulling into the McDonald's parking lot. "You wanna go in the drive thru or sit inside?"

"Can we sit inside?" Dean asked. "I feel like I've been cooped up all day long."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but parked the car. "And sitting inside of a McDonald's is gonna change that?"

Dean ignored him. He could already smell the food.

They got out of the car, walking towards the restaurant. Dean tried to copy Sam's long confident strides, holding himself taller.

His hips began to hurt, so he went back to his normal walk, suddenly self conscious of his bow legs.

"Ooh, bonus for your claustrophobia!" Sam exclaimed suddenly, eyeing the building. "There's a play place. A guarantee of tons of screaming children." He said jokingly, black coat flapping in the wind as he pointed.

Dean ignored the part of him that grinned at the play structure. He'd loved those things as a kid, screaming at his parents to pull over whenever he saw them.

He had been a terrible child.

"Bet you hate them just cause you were too tall for the slides." He told Sam matter of factly, grabbing the door before Sam could and holding it open.

Sam got that look on his face that meant Dean had dug up a memory. "Nope. I was a chubby kid."

Dean's eyebrows raised. "You? Chubby?"

Sam blushed furiously, turning from Dean and trying to find a booth for them.

Dean smirked behind the tall man's back and followed, happily sitting down at the booth Sam secured, triumphantly throwing some stray ketchup wrappers into the nearby trash can with the grace only a teacher could have.

Sam sat down in front of him, slanted eyes beautiful even in the crappy industrial lights. His hair should've been ugly and messy from all the weather, but it looked shiny and wind-mussed, reminding him of Sam's hair the other morning after their date. Dean wasn't sure why he was suddenly e armored with Sam; usually staring got you strange looks, but Sam didn't seem to mind.

"So, ah," Dean. "I love you and all, but there's food, like, ten feet from me, and..." His stomach chose that time to speak up again.

Sam laughed, throwing a black credit card on the table. "I'm going to run to the bathroom. Grab me a southern style chicken and some fries, Kay?" He said, standing up and unbuttoning his coat.

Dean scrambled up, embarrassed. "No, I didn't mean you had to pay for it!" He said, chagrined. "Take it back. I can pay, don't worry!" God this was embarrassing.

He tried to hand the expensive looking credit card back to Sam, but the taller man wouldn't take it.

"It's not a problem, man." Sam said in the way someone who was used to dealing with money would.

Dean made a disparaging noise, but Sam waved a hand. "Dude, it's McDonald's. I'm not gonna go broke over a couple burgers." He told Dean with a smile, taking off his coat to reveal a tight blue v-neck sweater, stopping Dean's thoughts mid-rant.

Oooh. Drool.

Dean had barely gotten his eyes off of Sam in time to see the man to walk away, hiding a smirk. Damnit. Dean was pretty sure he did that on purpose.

Grabbing the card, he examined it under the lights.

Sam R. Winchester

It LOOKED real.

Shrugging, he walked over to the counter, mouth watering as the brightly lit signs caught his stomach's attention.

If Sam was a deal that came with secrets, at least he came with food.

* * *

Sam was back at their table when he returned with the food, embarrassingly hungry while having to carry the steaming bag of processed deliciousness.

"Hey!" Sam said happily when Dean set the food down. "Awesome. Food."

Dean grinned. "I know." He said, unwrapping his burger before he even sat down.

Taking a bite, he groaned indecently. "Oh, delicious food." He said, mouth full.

"Careful." Sam said, grinning at him as he picked up his chicken sandwich. "You might lose some food if you keep opening your mouth."

Eyes wide, Dean nodded. "Good point." He said seriously.

Sam burst out laughing. "I'm beginning to think this date is more about food than me." He said after he stopped.

Dean stroked his burger, running a hand up the side of the bun. "Don't be jealous, Sammy. It's just that I love food more."

Sam nodded, giving him a disbelieving look. "Uh huh." He said, then raising his hands above his head in a totally fake yawn.

A lot of people in the room stopped to stare, including Dean, who even stopped chewing as he watched the muscles ripple under Sam's sweater.

Uh huh. He was gonna have to break up with food.

Sam lowered his arms, eyes twinkling like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. Or, more so Dean Jr.

They went back to eating their food, conversation slowly sparking as Sam told Dean about one of the kindergarden teacher's bad flirting skills.

"I know you were ignoring me and all, and if I was a tv character, we totally would've been sleeping with her already." He explained. "But before she could even ask me out on a date, she told me she'd seen me already."

Dean froze. "Seen you where?" He asked tentatively, heart beating a little faster.

Sam laughed, moving chestnut hair out of his eyes. "This is where it gets funny. She told me she'd dated my brother."

Dean laughed then, crisis averted. "Dude, do you even HAVE a brother?"

Sam shook his head. "Nope."

"Jesus, that's terrible. What did you tell her?"

"That I was taken." Sam said sweetly after a second, faint blush spreading on his cheeks.

Dean's heart did that little 'Thump thump holy crap that's sweeter than honey' thing and he took a moment to respond.

"That's awful sweet." He croaked out, hoping Sam's puppy dog eyes didn't catch the blush on his own cheeks.

Sam smiled. "Are you-" Suddenly, Dean's cell phone cut him off.

He cursed quietly, reaching into his pocket. Damn, the clock said it had already been two hours. Where had the time gone?

Flipping open the phone, he looked at Sam's face as he answered.

"Yeah?"

"Is this Dean?" A woman's voice said.

"Yeah, sure is. What can I help you with?" He asked, concerned. Nobody called his phone except for work.

"We've got a Misha Collins down here at Mount Sinai General." The woman said, making Dean's smile freeze on his face. There was the sound of shuffling papers.

"He's in the ICU for a car accident," The woman began. "You're listed as next of kin."

"…What?" Dean croaked, fingers slipping around the phone. "What happened?" He managed.

The woman repeated her earlier statement, but Dean couldn't hear anything. He was frozen.

What had happened?

Sam's concerned face was suddenly above his, and the cell phone was pried from his hands. All Dean could see was Sam's blurry face, looking serious as he spoke into the phone.

Misha, Jesus Christ.

He could hear chatter from the woman on the phone, and Sam was speaking furiously, face a mixture of calm and worry.

Sam finished the call, lips forming a small "thank you" before flipping the cell closed. Unsurprisingly, the snap of the cell phone wasn't as satisfying this time.

"What happened?" Dean repeated, grabbing Sam's arm.

"Misha's..?" He trailed off.

Sam looked concerned. "Was in a serious car accident." He said, looking darkly at his hands for a second. "We need to go to the hospital, Dean." Grabbing his jacket, he looked at Dean.

"Can you stand up?" He asked, using his teacher's voice.

Dean nodded numbly, unfolding from the booth and placing his jacket on, children's screams and chatter all blurring together around him.

Sam grabbed his shoulder lightly, guiding him to the door. He held it open for Dean, staying within three steps of him as they marched towards the car.

Dean felt numb, could only follow Sam as they got into Sam's car. Dean couldn't even remember what model it was, what it looked like or anything. He felt Sam's prodding hand on his shoulder, and realized he was standing still above the car door.

"Dean." Sam said softly. "We need to go."

The wind blew out of nowhere, tossing Sam's hair out of his eyes as his jaw flexed a little.

"Okay." He told him, watching Sam sigh in relief as he sat down.

Sam started the car quickly, and the pace of the night picked up. It was dark out now, and the snow made little designs on the windshield before turning into droplets of water.

The car rumbled as Sam sped them through the streets, oddly intent expression on his face as he wove through the cars.

And so it began.

* * *

Mount Sinai General was an ominous looking building nestled between a long line of stores and a park on the other side of town. Since it was the closest hospital to the school, it made sense that Misha would be taken there.

Sam drove them to the ICU quickly, manipulating the car in a way that made it seem like time had slowed down and they had gotten faster. Dean knew that wasn't possible, but everything had a haze of worry around it, and he ignored that part of his brain.

They walked into the ICU worried, Dean matching his steps to Sam's as they found the receptionist. She gave them a look, and Sam sighed like he knew what was coming.

"Dean." He said, stopping him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Visiting hours are over."

Dean gaped. "What do you mean they're over?" He exclaimed. "It's not even that late out!"

Sam looked out the window pointedly, and Dean realized it really wasn't four o' clock in the afternoon anymore.

"Sit down." Sam said, pointing to some dingy chairs over in the corner of the room. "I'll talk to the receptionist to find out when we can see him."

"But-" Dean protested, but Sam looked at him sadly. "Dean, there's nothing you can do for him now." He said, looking sick at having to say it.

Dean nodded after a second, making his way over to the chairs while Sam spoke softly to the night receptionist.

Dean had been absently paging through the leftover magazines on the chair next to him when Sam's frame plopped down, sighing.

"So?" Dean asked.

Sam looked sad, but a little hopeful. "Visiting hours are over, but I talked to his doctor, and he said he'd let us see him for a few minutes."

Dean's eyes went wide. "Really?" He asked.

Sam nodded, face blank. "Yeah. He said he'll be around to get us in about fifteen minutes."

Dean put a hand on Sam's, not usually one for PDAs, but feeling pretty grateful.

"Thank you." He said honestly. "Thank you Sam."

Sam's face went dark, and he turned away all of a sudden.

"Don't thank me."

* * *

The doctor came to get them a couple minutes later, face tired and haggard looking as he eyed the two of them slumped against each other in the waiting room.

"You're coming with me to see Collins?" He asked the two of them, getting two nodding heads in return.

He was a short man, leading the way through electrically locked doors to a long, white hallway. His white coat flapped behind him, offsetting his gold brown hair and dark caramel eyes.

"You boys are lucky," The man said, walking swiftly through the halls.

"How so?" Dean asked bitterly, not liking the man for some reason.

Dr. Richards, as his coat read, didn't seem to notice. "When they brought him in, it looked like he'd bleed out before he got to my table. He pulled through though. Not a lot of people can."

The doctor looked thoughtful as they walked the long hallway. "Shame about the car, though."

Dean froze. "What car?" he asked, completely forgetting about why Misha was in the hospital.

Richards kept walking, but turned to Dean. "Ah, a '67 Impala, I think. Heard it from one of the EMTs. Dented right through the side. Damn, you would've thought it was cut in half, he said."

Dean had to pause and put a hand against the wall, feeling Sam's steadying arm behind him as he breathed slowly.

"It's wrecked?" He asked after a second.

Two pairs of eyes found his, one gold and one a deep hazel.

"Yeah." Richards said after a second, seeming to realize why Dean had stopped. "I'm sorry."

Dean waved him on. "Let's just get to his room." He said, mentally smacking himself. How could he not put two and two together? Misha was driving his car and was in a car accident a few hours later.

He held onto Sam's arm a little bit more than he'd want to admit, following the energetic doctor through the hallway that seemed to go on forever.

"Did they catch who did it?" Sam asked the doctor as they passed the beginning of the ICU rooms.

Richards shook his head. "Not so far. I'm sure they'll have some questions for Mr. Collins when he wakes up, but for now there's no suspect."

"Suspect?" Dean asked, surprised. "I thought it was a car accident?"

This time, Richards stopped all the way, turning to Dean and Sam seriously.

"Son, I've seen a lot of things in my life," He told Dean. "That EMT told me it was no accident, and I'm inclined to believe him."

Sam inhaled sharply, looking at Richards.

"Not an accident?"

* * *

A/N Okay, so a cliffie. I'm tired after a long week, and reviews keep me going! I love you guys!


	12. Chapter Twelve

A/N I know, late. I missed your reviews yesterday-I think I went into withdrawal. Anyone else freaking out about supernatural signing for a ninth season?

As always, don't forget to review! Spec. thanks to EmilyOlga who leaves me nice long reviews and to if-llamas-could-fly who brightens my day with her thinly veiled threats

* * *

Misha had always been a little different. A little off, if Dean was honest. Not different in a bad way, but noticeable. He didn't know if it was the man's strange features, from the midnight black hair to the pellucid blue eyes that had always made Dean wonder if the man knew how scary he could be sometimes.

But that wasn't Misha. He was jokes and crooked smiles; never letting you think for one second there was anything but humor behind his sharp eyes.

Dean was pretty sure that was what he liked most about Misha; How no matter what the situation, how terrible the day was, who'd thrown up, there was always a smile to drag him back. Which meant many things, but Dean knew he retreated back into himself, leaving the world for days sometimes. Misha had always grabbed him before he could even think about it, humorous blue eyes darkening ever so slightly before he cracked another joke.

Misha wasn't helping him right now.

Walking into his friend's hospital room, he didn't see a pair of joking eyes meet his. He didn't see a crooked smile or sarcastically raised eyebrow. It was like being a kid and seeing your parents cry, and knowing it was wrong, knowing that this wasn't normal, and something was oh so bad.

Misha was unconscious on the hospital bed, white bandages wrapping around his head and shoulder. Tubes ran into him, over sheets and into machines that lined the end of the room, computer screens lit up with what Dean assumed were Misha's vitals.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself, feeling Sam's large hand brush almost unnoticeably against his back, but with almost more reassurance than Dean could bare.

A slight cough behind him made Dean realize he was still standing in the doorway, lost in his friend. He moved slowly into the room, the feeling of wrongness increasing with each step.

Misha didn't move. Dean didn't expect him to.

Dr. Richards moved towards the bed, checking the computer screens efficiently while scribbling something down on a clipboard.

Sam slowly paced to Dean's side, wrapping a comforting hand around his waist. Dean's mind was almost too fuzzy to appreciate the gesture, but he laid his head on Sam's shoulder as Richard began speaking.

"Mr. Collins been in a medically induced coma for four hours now." He started, reading off the chart. The use of Misha's last name shocked Dean even more, hard truth sinking in. He'd never heard anyone call Misha 'Mr. Collins'. It was always 'Misha', nothing more, nothing less.

"The intial prognosis showed he sustained slight internal damage to his right side, including a fractured humerus and a concussion. After operating, the bleeding was stopped, and Collin's vitals regained stability."

Dean took it in slowly, processing everything even slower than normal. Next to him, Sam looked concerned, smart brain no doubt translating all the words into sense.

The short doctor peered at Dean. "You listening?"

Dean shook his head a little, trying to clear all the fancy lingo from his head.

"Uh, what does that mean?" He asked after a second, feeling dumb.

He could almost hear Misha's ever-present voice in the back of his head.

That's what you get for being a janitor…

Richards paused. "He's got some internal bleeding, a concussion, and his shoulder's broken." He said unsympathetically.

Dean glared at him for a second, not liking his know-it-all tone. "Wow, you're really known for your bedside manner, huh?"

He wasn't really sure how he was able to be sarcastic at a time like this, but hey. Everyone had their coping mechanisms.

Richards smirked. "That I am. Winchester, can I speak to you in the hall for a second?" He said suddenly to Sam, surprising Dean.

Sam didn't look startled, just moved into the hall with a thoughtful look on his face. He was still wearing his jacket, Dean realized. Looking down, he found he was as well, moisture soaking into his clothes.

Taking it off and laying it down on the chair next to Misha, he sat down in the remaining seat and tried to get his bearings.

He didn't grab Misha's hand like the clichéd people on the television, even though a part of him wanted to.

* * *

Sam walked briskly forward, following the doctor down the infinite white hallway until the shorter man stopped, leaning against a wall with a stressed look on his face.

"Sam-" Richards started, but stopped when Sam held a hand up, staring at the hallway ahead of him as people came and went.

"I know." Sam said simply. "We need to call in protection."

Gabriel's face became almost comically exasperated.

"Call in protection?" He nearly shouted, eyes wide. "We need to call in the freaking national guard!" He waved his hands, trying to get the taller man's attention.

Sam turned away from the hallway, staring at the doctor. "We need to think about this rationally, Gabe." He told the doctor, looking down the hall to see if anyone had heard the doctor's outburst.

"Rationally?" Gabriel asked. "We passed that when the car freaking jumped the sidewalk and mowed your new pet's friend down! I saw the footage, Sam! There is no way this is an accident!"

He looked pleadingly at Sam, trying to express what he was feeling. A pair of hazel eyes stared back at him, unflinching as he ran through all the details.

Sam sighed, running a hand back into his hair as his eyes turned dark.

"We need to hear what Misha says." He told the doctor. "See if he can remember the men. I'm guessing you didn't get a great view on the video?"

Gabriel shook his head. "The bastards chose a ramshackle corner on purpose. Barely any cameras. We only caught two male figures running away. The police are stumped, but they've got a hell of a lot of questions."

Sam nodded. "They leave the car behind?"

"Left it crushing Collins, that's what they did." Gabriel said angrily, angry fire blazing in his eyes.

Sam sighed again, rolling his shoulders back. "And you think this was a deliberate attack?" He asked, running a hand through his hair again.

Gabriel nodded furiously, casting a worried look up and down the hallway.

"Winchester's car isn't exactly low key, and you saw Luke the other day!" He said sharply, looking at Sam earnestly.

"Sam, please don't turn a blind eye to this like last time." He pled with the taller man.

He continued, face turning red with emotion.

"You have to agree he's planning something!" He nearly yelled at Sam, forgetting his place.

Sam turned towards him quickly, eyes flashing. Gabriel realized he may have overstepped.

"And what do you propose we do about it?" He asked coolly, dark eyes so sharp it made Gabriel want to turn away. There was pain there, some he remembered and most he didn't.

Gabriel took a steadying breath. "Take Winchester. Take him out east, west, hell I don't care. Get under the radar. I'll watch Collins, but I doubt they'll come for him."

Sam smiled mockingly at Gabriel for a second, corners of his mouth turning up in a bitter smile.

"What do you want us to do, sit in some random ass cabin and play checkers until they show up?" He asked sarcastically.

Gabriel grabbed his arm, twisting him against the wall.

"Don't do this." He warned the taller man. "There is no other way. Don't do this again, Sam. Remember how it turned out last time you tried to play hero?"

Sam's face paled a little at the memory, eyes going dull for a second.

"It's been a year, Gabe." He said.

It was the other man's turn to laugh bitterly. "A year is nothing, Sam. Absolutely nothing."

There was silence in the hallway, tension radiating off the two men before Sam sighed again.

Nodding, he turned back to the shorter, gold eyed man.

"You have my cell?"

Gabriel nodded, but frowned. "You might want to ditch that too. I got some stuff prepared for you in case this happened, so don't worry."

Sam raised an eyebrow at that. "You knew I'd agree with your plan?'

Gabriel shook his head. "Not much of a plan, but I don't see another choice. Get safe, and we can talk then. I don't even think we can even call the guard in on this one. He's got people everywhere, you know that."

Sam's eyes flashed at that, but he took a breath and looked down the hall to Misha's room.

"I hate doing this to him." He said after a second, voice weaker and less commanding than it was seconds earlier.

Gabriel shrugged. "It's that or being dead."

Sam closed his eyes. "There's no way, if I just left, that they wouldn't use him?"

Gabriel shook his head slowly, eyes sympathetic. "You already saw the crash. They thought Collins was Dean. Now they'll know he isn't dead."

Sam opened his eyes, accepting this slowly. "Fine." He said after a second, single word reverberating in Gabriel's head for a second before the shorter man clenched his fists and turned away from his charge.

He remembered a time when acceptance had been the last thing on Sam's mind. When angry gazes were all Gabriel knew of the man.

"You've changed." He told Sam, looking at the wall. A bitter chuckle sounded behind him.

"Hasn't everyone?" Sam asked sardonically. Gabriel shook his head.

Slapping Sam on the shoulder, he looked intently at the man.

"We need to do this. We need to do it level headed too." He told the taller man, who nodded in return.

"Thanks, Gabe." Sam said as they began walking back to Misha's room.

Gabriel's face turned dark, and he creepily mirrored Sam's earlier words when he spoke.

"Don't thank me."

They walked back up the hallway, complacency fading a little bit as the lines of friends fell and anonymity swallowed up the two again.

* * *

Dean looked up when Sam walked in, surprised to see a storm emotion flash across his face before a mask fell back on again. Grabbing a seat, Sam moved Dean's jacket onto his lap before Dean spoke.

"What did you guys talk about?" He asked, earlier stupor gone as Sam's mysterious absence was called into question.

"Medical bills." Sam said levelly, staring at Misha's form on the bed.

"Medical bills?" Dean asked, unconvinced. "Bullshit."

Sam sighed, turning towards the window, tension radiating in his back.

"I can't tell you." Sam said after a moment of silence.

Dean snorted. "You seem to be hiding a lot." He said sarcastically, glaring at the taller man's back.

Sam turned around to face him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

It was Dean's turn to be reticent. "Nothing."

There was more silence, unlike any there'd been between them before.

Dean sensed something was wrong. Sam looked too concerned, too stressed. He knew what he looked like, knew that Misha was out of the blue but was still worried, but knew it wasn't like that. It wasn't as bad as Sam thought it was.

Which meant it really was.

"What happened?" He asked the shaggy haired man.

Sam sighed again, closing his eyes.

"Dean, you know it wasn't an accident."  
Dean frowned. "You keep telling me that, Sam. Everyone keeps telling me that. But what I'm really asking is how the fuck it wasn't an accident!" He screamed, voice echoing inside the small room.

Sam flinched a little, green eyes looking pained. "The cops saw the footage, Dean. The car jumped the curb. On purpose." He said to Dean, watching a shocked expression etch itself onto his face.

"Who?" He asked angrily, green eyes like twin points of fire. "Tell me they caught the bastards, Sam."

Sam looked away, answering it before he opened his mouth.

"No." He started. "Dean, they did it for a reason."

Dean's eyes widened again, and his breath sped up.

"What the hell did they do it for?" Dean asked Sam. "He's a fucking secretary. Who'd the hell would mow down a secretary?"

Sam wouldn't look at Dean.

"Sam?" Dean asked after a second. "Sam, tell me!"

The taller man raised his eyes to his then, looking pensive and oh so sorry in a way that made Dean's stomach churn.

"Dean, they were trying to get you."

* * *

A/N I know, another cliffy. Sorry this is late. Reviews, anyone?


	13. Chapter 13

JNSQ 13

A/N So, short ish update! Your reviews are very much so appreciated. If there was some confusion regarding the use of last names, please rest assured that I have not used Dean's last name yet, and it is not Winchester. Just to clarify.

There may be another chapter tomorrow night, but no promises. I will be gone for a week (calm down, it's not so sad...) and will miss you terribly, so no JNSQ for seven says...

Jeez, this is getting long. Review, I loves yall, miss you guys!

* * *

Misha was still unconscious, not that Dean was expecting him to wake up.

Dean was sitting next to him, lulled into a false sense of security by the constant thrumming of the monitors.

Every time he dozed off a little, the bum bum bum bum bum of the monitors would pull him back up again, soft and comforting. After a few seconds, he'd shift a little, startling awake as he realized why such noises were there in the first place.

Sam was standing next to him the third time he woke up, sweat dripping down his face. He couldn't exactly remember what he'd dreamed about, only that it might have been only marginally better than the scene that met him when he woke.

Sam gave him a cup of coffee, sharp smell of caffeine intoxicating at this hour. Looking at his watch, he realized it was still the wee hours of morning.

A pair of soulful green eyes met his, concern and another emotion Dean couldn't really place flowing through them. Dean gave him a weak smile, stretching his arms up as he woke up.

"What's Richards say anyway?" He asked the taller man. "I totally forgot to ask you."

"You did ask me." Sam replied, own cup of coffee in hand.

Dean sighed. "Sam-"

Sam stood up suddenly, phone buzzing in his pocket.

"Yeah?" Dean heard Sam ask. The person on the other line spoke rapidly, message over quickly. The taller man nodded seriously, unconsciously clenching his right hand in and out of a fist.

Sam snapped the phone shut after a quick "Alright" and turned, digging in his pockets for something.

Dean looked at him quizzically as Sam grabbed his jacket, turning to Dean.

"We need to go." He said, taking his cell phone out again and opening the battery compartment. Dean could only watch in surprise as he placed the pieces on the floor, slamming a booted heel down and destroying them.

"What...what...?" Dean got out, then swallowed. "What the hell are you doing, Sam?!"

Sam didn't look at him, but reached into Dean's coat pocket and took apart Dean's phone.

Before he could shout out Sam had already brought his foot down on Dean's flip phone, plastic shattering as Dean stared at Sam in surprise and anger.

"The fuck, man?!" He shouted at Sam, opening his mouth again to start yelling when Sam's large hand covered his mouth warningly.

Dean made a sound of surprise, widening his eyes at the taller man. The realization came over him that Sam could easily overpower him if it came down to it.

That was just the tiniest bit scary.

"We need to leave." Sam said, still holding his hand over Dean's mouth as he looked into his eyes. "You're in danger. I can't protect you if you're yelling your goddamn head off."

The hand over his mouth was really soft, but Sam probably wouldn't appreciate Dean mumbling about his hand while it was still over his mouth. Dean always hated people who licked him.

Dean watched as Sam's eyes flicked to the doorway, getting a worried look in his eyes like he was looking for someone.

Any other time, Dean would've made a crack about bondage or something else stupid, but the look in Sam's eyes was enough to stop any thoughts in their tracks. He nodded slightly at Sam, looking down at the hand still covering his mouth.

Sam spoke quietly. "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth now. Got it?"

Dean nodded again, and relaxed when Sam's hand moved. He grabbed his jacket off the table and looked down at the ruins of their phones.

"You're saying there's people after us?" He asked Sam dubiously, shrugging his jacket on.

"Yeah." Sam said simply. He didn't catch the disbelieving look Dean shot him.

"This isn't some crime show where you're secretly an assassin who loves people and saves them all the time?" He rambled nervously, hating the dark look Sam shot him. "I mean, I used to watch this show like that. Can't remember the name, but man. Lead guy was hot, and totally rescued people all the time from people who wanted to kill them..." He stopped. "Wait. That means someone wants to kill me."

Sam just looked at him, letting the words sink in.

"Who wants to kill me, Sam?" He asked, backing up a little and placing his back to the wall.

Better safe than sorry.

Sam shook his head. "I can't tell you."

That earned a glare from Dean. "Try."

Sam sighed. "I can tell you later, but the more time we spend here, the more danger you're in."

"Then why are we waiting?"

Sam just shook his head again. "Supplies."

"What about Misha?" Dean asked, turning to his friend's bed as an afterthought.

"I don't think they'll touch him again." Sam said. Something dark in his voice quelled Dean's answering question.

"I can't leave him." He said after a quick moment of thinking. "Sam, he's in an ICU for God's sake!"

Dean flinched as a sharp knock sounded on the door.

Sam stepped outside quickly, like he was expecting this, and disappeared for a second, returning with two backpacks and a small black case.

"What the hell do you mean again?" Dean asked, then noticed the bags. "What are those?"

Tossing one to Dean, he swung the matching one over his shoulder. "Supplies."

Dean nodded slowly. "Of course." He said, hating Sam's sudden sarcastic mood. "What's in the case?"

Sam set it down on the table, clicking open the metal tabs on the side with a sharp click.

Inside were dark metal parts, indistinguishable to Dean's eyes as Sam gently whistled.

"Sonuvabitch." Sam said in admiration.

"What? What is it?" Dean asked worriedly. "You can't just drop the whole 'you're in danger we need to run' bombshell on me and not give me a few details here!" He said childishly.

Sam's deft fingers ran over the pieces, dark metal glistening as he picked it up, slotting everything together quickly. A recognizable shape began to form.

"A gun?" Dean asked a little hysterically. "People don't kill people. Guns do."

He was rambling.

"Or is it the other way around?" He asked nervously. Sam just smirked a little, cheerful humor gone, replaced by something much harder.

"Alright. Now we can go." Sam said after he tucked the gun in his waistband, flash of skin making little stars dance before Dean's eyes.

Totally not the time.

"Since when is an english teacher Rambo?" He asked confusedly. Sam gave him a quick smile, but grabbed their bags. "Let's go."

Gesturing at Dean, Sam waved him towards the doorway, following behind him after he got into the hallway. He left the case next to Misha's bed.

"But Misha-" Dean started at the last second. Sam cut him off.

"Will be taken care of. Don't worry, I have someone."

Dean got one last glimpse of his friend before Sam swept him to the side, herding him down the hall.

"Where are we headed?" Dean asked as they hurried down the hallway, pausing and walking normally when they passed people. It would have been comical if it wasn't for the tension Dean could feel emitting from Sam.

"There's a car down in the parking lot." Sam said, checking his watch. "Then we can talk."

Dean sighed but kept walking. He knew this wasn't Sam. The taller man wouldn't act like this if he could choose. Dean didn't know much, but he could see pain in the taller man's eyes, and damn if it didn't look a lot like guilt.

He wanted Sam back, which was kind of stupid. Sam was right next to him, eyes blazing.

This was a different kind of Sam, then.

They hurried to the stairwell, Sam pulling up the back as they flew down the stairs, trying to be quiet. Dean still wasn't sure what (who) was after them, but any time he tried to slow down, a large hand was always there, guiding him quicker down the stairs.

They ended up shuffling awkwardly through a cramped back stairwell, exiting the hospital through the back.

A nondescript black car was waiting for them, engine running but mysteriously empty as they pulled up.

Sam threw his backpack into the backseat, gesturing for Dean to hurry up as he pulled a set of keys out of his pocket.

"Dude." Dean said in astonishment. "Who ARE you?"

Sam didn't smile, didn't crack a joke about being batman like Misha would. He looked tense, eyes on the windows of the building across from them as he checked the car over for something Dean didn't understand.

"Ready to go?" He asked Dean when he was done with his investigation. Dean nodded, getting into the car's shotgun seat and praying he wasn't making a mistake.

* * *

"It's something about you, isn't it?" Dean asked after a few minutes of silent driving. "Why I'm in trouble. Not that I couldn't get a hit on me if I tried, but you know, this is bigger than that, right?"

Damn mouth.

Sam seemed to relax a little with every mile, shoulders even un-clenching as they made it out of the city, wide open farms anything but reassuring to Dean. Wasn't saftey being able to see your attacker from far away? The miles of visibility were nice, sure, but the attack could come from anywhere.

He knew this stuff, after all. He played COD.

Sam sighed, rolling his shoulders a couple of times before answering. "Yeah." He admitted.

"But you can't really tell me about it."

Sam shook his head. "Sorry."

Dean sighed like Sam, leaning back in the seat. "Okay. Cool."

Sam looked at him. "Cool?"

Dean nodded. "Cool. You don't tell me anything, I don't give you sex. Cool."

Sam sputtered, blushing furiously as he stared at Dean with wide eyes before getting the car back under control. "What?!"

Dean made a 'what can you do?' face. "I deserve to know, or no sex."

Sam's icy mask had broken, and the cute guy Dean liked and liked to think he knew peeked out. "Really?"

Dean nodded. "Totally."

Sam shook his head. "We're getting followed by people who want to kill us, and you turn it into something like this?"

Dean crossed his arms. "Yep."

"You do know we might die."

Dean sighed, looking up and down Sam until a small bulge underneath Sam's jacket caught his eye.

Knowing the gun was there was a cruel reminder that the banter had to end eventually.

"Yeah." Dean said. "And it doesn't mean I'm not going to grill you later, but I mean it. No sex."

Sam nodded. "Fine."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Fine?" He asked, mirroring Sam's earlier question.

"Fine."

There was silence.

After about six minutes, Dean's inner child had had enough.

"Hey Sam?" He whispered.

"What?" Sam asked. "I thought we were done-"

"I'm bored."

"Watch the scenery."

"It's dark out!"

Another sigh. "Pretend."

"Pretend?"

"Or, I dunno, watch the licence plates."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"That's what I did when I was bored."

Dean sighed this time. "You're weird."

Sam nodded sarcastically. "Well, the weird guy is the one saving your ass."

"Haven't seen any real danger yet."

Sam made a noise in the back of his throat, but didn't reply.

A few minutes later, a problem arose.

"I need to pee."

Sam sighed again, and Dean was pretty sure there was no hot air left inside the man. Running a hand through his hair, he glared out the windshield.

"Of course you do."

* * *

A/N See you guys soon?


	14. Chapter 14

A/N So, first off, this chapter is devoted to my beta, who loves a certain tag you'll find entangled within. Second, this is the last update for a week. Rating for this chapter has gone waaaaay up. If you're not cool with that, please ignore this chapter (sob). As always, let me know what you think!

* * *

Dean woke to the lull of a car's engine, shaking his head as he tried to remember how he'd gotten in a car.

It was still night outside, long plains just beginning to welcome dawn in the east. It would've been beautiful if Dean could appreciate it, but waking up in an unfamiliar place usually took priority over sun watching.

Glimpsing a familiar large figure in the shadows of dawn next to him, he paused as all the memories of the last two days came rushing back.

Not even wanting to think about Misha and everything that surrounded him didn't mean Dean's mind wasn't a traitor and made him anyway. Memories flashed in his head, little pictures of him sitting next to Misha's bed, of Sam's worried face as he stood over Dean, and the final crack of broken plastic across a grey floor.

Twisting in his seat, he looked out the window, blinking sleep out of his eyes as a sign for Kansas passed by.

"Sam?" He asked sleepily. "What are we doing in Kansas?"

There was no reply, but Dean figured it was okay that Sam wasn't talkative. He sure hadn't been when Misha woke them up weeks ago.

It seemed like ages since then, even though it had only happened yesterday. Dean almost wanted to call his friend, knowing it was unlikely he'd even be conscious but still feeling a childish urge to have reassurance.

It was kind of crazy how important Misha had become over the last few years; more important than his family, definitely. It also scared him how quickly Sam had become important to him too, from his small smiles to boisterous laughter over drinks. He was everything Dean wanted, but something inside of him kept screaming it was wrong.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he turned to find Sam's shadowy figure still rigid near the wheel, an almost military precision to his posture and driving.

"Sam?" He asked, a little worried. "Did something happen?" Maybe Dean had missed something. He had been so sure Sam was calm, seeing as they'd even stopped for lunch once Sam deemed it 'safe'.

Sam didn't reply, but took one hand off the wheel and hooked it around Dean's neck, drawing him in slowly. Feeling a little morning-breathy, Dean shrugged out of the oncoming kiss.

"C'mon man," He told Sam, faintly surprised at the display of affection. "Morning breath. We can make out after I brush my teeth." Smiling a little, he didn't get an answer as Sam turned back to the wheel, face still obscured by shadows.

"We are gonna stop, right?" Dean asked after a second.

Still no reply.

He sighed, slouching back in his seat. Trust Sam to be mr roboto. He toyed with the idea of cracking a joke to lighten the mood, but a flash of Misha's sparkling blue eyes threw him off that idea, making his stomach roll unpleasantly.

He ended up just slouching against Sam's (still muscular!) shoulder, watching the dawn outside.

A hand began to run itself through his hair, sending shivers down Dean's spine as he arched up into the touch.

Screw the no sex rule. If Sam kept doing that, they'd have to kiss, which meant no speaking and henceforth no arguing.

Dean gave himself genius points as Sam's hot mouth covered his, two hands suddenly in his hair, gripping Dean closer to Sam as he kissed him fiercely. Apparently robo Sam was also horny Sam. Points!

Dean didn't even have time to wonder how the car was still going forward without anyone driving it, too lost in Sam, who'd begun to do something that made Dean groan a little, noise surprising him.

Dean ran a hand up Sam's back, marveling at the ripples of muscles he found there. Digging his hands into a massage spot an old boyfriend had taught him, he wrestled a groan out of Sam that was almost illegal.

They kept kissing, time passing slowly. Dean suddenly became aware of the sun rising, shadows in the car disappearing. He threaded his hands through Sam's hair, silky softness like a pile of feathers in his hands.

"Sam," Dean said after a second, breaking apart from the taller man's lips. "While I love the foreplay...don't you think we need to talk about some stuff first?"

Stupid Sam didn't reply, but thrust his hips against Dean so perfectly he actually cried out a little.

"Okay, okay." He breathed after a second. "No talking. Got it."

Reaching a hand back, Sam deftly lowered the seats, falling on top of Dean as they laid together on the backseat.

"Car sex." Dean said. "Kinky enough that I'll break the no-sex rule."

No reply, but a mouth snaked kisses up his jaw, causing him to gasp, and that was totally okay with him.

"But we're seriously talking after this." He told Sam, reaching his own hands up to undo the larger man's shirt.

The second his hands met skin, Sam shuddered, clenching his beautiful eyes shut.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean asked worriedly once Sam stopped moving.

The final shadow was overtaken by the morning sun, and Sam turned to him then, pulling Dean back to him before Dean could catch a glimpse of Sam in the sunlight.

He let out another moan as they touched, but didn't let himself surrender completely this time.

"Sam," he mumbled against the other man's mouth, confused as he began to feel prickles against his lips. "Wh-"  
He stopped as Sam pulled away.

The sunlight shone down on a figure that wasn't Sam, tall and broad just like him, dark haired too, but not Sam.

Dean's heart stopped as he realized just who he'd been kissing.

John sat in front of him, jaw dark with the stubble that had just been brushing against Dean's mouth. Dark eyes glared at him, cold, heart wrenching anger so apparent it made Dean want to roll down the window and throw up.

"Dean." His dad said, tone reverberating through Dean's body, his SOUL.

He couldn't even begin to understand how this was happening, how Sam had become dad (or maybe it had always been dad) and how could it, no no no.

"You're dead." He quaked out, voice trembling. Dad just smiled, tapping a finger on the window. Following his dad's gaze, his heart stopped as he saw what had to be Sam.

A body lay across the windshield, two green, blood covered eyes staring straight back into Dean's. He let out a scream and threw himself back, tears welling in his eyes.

"What did you do, you bastard?!" He half screamed, half sobbed. "How is this even possible?"

John just looked at him icily, eyes instilling fear even now.

"I warned you, Dean. It was evil, what you did."

His tone turned sharp.

"Apparently you were too weak to restrain yourself." He said bitterly, gesturing at Dean's tears.

"So I took out the problem myself. You should thank me, son."

Dean could only clench his fist, biting down on it to keep from screaming.

"I will never thank you." He gritted out. "You bastard."

His voice broke on the last word, choking up at all the memories. Wasn't it time to focus? To let go of the past? But Dean didn't know how to do that, not with Sam right in front of him and John with those awful eyes.

Looking down, he saw blood, covering the seat, on his hands. On John's hands.

"You will thank me." John ordered. "I own you."

Dean shook his head furiously. "This isn't real."

John didn't seem to hear.

"Dad please, this isn't real." He pleaded with his father, tears still running down his face.

"Call me sir." John ordered. "You don't deserve anything else."

Dean flinched at the memory those words brought up, body aching suddenly at remembered pain. When he looked down, he barely stifled his gasp at the sudden bloodstains seeping through his jeans. More tears leaked out of hie eyes as John grinned.

"Say it." John growled.

"No." Dean whispered painfully through gritted teeth.

"Say it!"

Dean shook his head, trying not to clench. It only made the pain worse.

"Dean." John said in warning. "Don't make me..."

He let the words hang there, knowing that was exactly what Dean feared the most.

Dean turned away in disgust, only to find Sam's glazed eyes boring into his.

"Sam." Dean whispered softly.

"What was that?" John asked snidely. "I didn't hear you!"

"Sam." He repeated, clenching his hands. "You're not real. He's not dead."

"Dean," John started. "I'm exactly what you needed. He wasn't. He was WEAK. You were weak with him."

He glared at Dean. "You need to be strong. Like me."

"I am nothing like you!" Dean shouted. "You bastard, you ruined my life!"

John smiled slowly as trickles of blood ran down his face. "No, you're nothing like me." He said softly.

Grinning, he pointed at Dean's hands, covered in more blood than John's.

"You're worse." He said, knife suddenly in hand. The silver glinted in the dawn sunlight, and Dean shrank against the seat to get away from it.

John smiled, drove the knife down through the air, flashing towards Dean.

A sharp pain woke him up.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, thrashing in the car seat. Breathing heavily, he looked around in astonishment as John disappeared. Sam's confused, caring face was hovering over his, and suddenly the car stopped.

"Dean?" A worried voice said. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Dean felt a large arm around his shoulders and flinched, remembering his father's weight above him as they kissed. Sam looked embarrassed and took his arm away.

"No." Dean almost sobbed. "I'm sorry." He said, grabbing Sam around the waist and pulling him tight against him, craving the protection there.

"Sorry?" Sam exclaimed. "Dean, what for?" He asked softly against the top of Dean's head.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry Sam." He repeated redundantly against the taller man's chest. "I'll tell you everything, I swear."

Sam shook his head. "Dean, baby, we don't have to." He said painfully. "Dean, it's okay."

Dean pressed his head against Sam's shirt, willing the tears away. Sam kept a hold around him, breathing rhythmic and comforting. He calmed down slowly, thanking god someone like Sam existed.

"Dean, we gotta keep driving." Sam murmured carefully to him after a few minutes. "I hate to say it. Can you sit up for me so I can reach the wheel?"

Dean nodded, stretching painfully until he was upright. Two tear stains marked Sam's shirt, but the taller man didn't seem to notice.

Sam grabbed the wheel with one hand, and Dean almost cried out as the other one left his shoulders. He took an easy breath as it wrapped around his hand, safe and everything Dean needed.

They drove off then, world still dark around them.

If the sunrise never came, Dean wouldn't care.

* * *

A/N So, last update for a week. I had a lot of fun with this chapter!:) I will miss you guys and your amazing comments. To my Beta (Who doesn't have her internet connection right now) I will miss you, and this chapter was totally for you.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N Whooh! That was a long week, and I didn't write for most of it. Sorry for the very late update. I have a lot to catch up on, so I'm not sure about the updates this week. Here's a long chapter for your troubles. Special thanks to my amazing beta, who lets me bounce ideas off of her like rubber balls. As always, don't forget to review! It'll help my week! :)

Misha and Gabriel start out this chapter-going for something new, I guess...

* * *

Coming to consciousness was a weird thing. Greens and blacks and grays flitted around his vision, like the little fluffy dancers he'd seen a month before.

The ones with the purple tu-tus. Yeah, Misha remembered those clearly. He liked the purple, liked how it twisted in front of him like a snake, making him sigh a little in amazement.

He hated the grays the most. They threatened to drag him back down, like a greasy slide into unconsciousness. There was no way to avoid them; all Misha could do was pray that they would let him surface this time. He hated being under, that strange almost-there feeling without being anywhere at all.

Misha blearily opened his eyes, shutting them quickly as a bright light shone down on him. He slowly opened them again, allowing the light to seep in gradually.

The first thing he saw was a golden head, light shining out like a halo from behind it. The walls of the room were white, bright and plain. Misha blinked a couple times, and a face slowly came into focus.

Two gold eyes were looking down at him with a mix of faint sorry and amusement. Misha tried to shift a little, feeling uncomfortable under this person's gaze. He realized quickly that his body wasn't responding; all he could do was twitch numbly.

"What-" he croaked, voice breaking. "Fucking Christ." He muttered.

"What?" A masculine asked. "I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

Misha startled at the voice, heart sharpening in his chest. Where had that voice come from?

The golden man's lips had moved. Oh. Ohhhhh.

Misha realized everything felt a little floaty. Floaty was a bad word, but he couldn't describe it any other way. Everything was light, this gold-eyed man, the white walls. Even his mind felt light.

Slowly, the situation dawned on him.

"I'm dead!" He exclaimed. "I'm fucking dead!" He croaked out, throat burning.

"Ah," There was a cough. "Not quite."

Misha studied the man a little closer, eyes widening at the golden features, the handsome face, the strong facial features.

"Oh shit." He said after a second. "I said fuck in front of an angel. Fuck."

He tried to raise a hand to flick his swearing rubber band around his wrist, but his limbs wouldn't obey his commands.

He had been struggling for about thirty seconds when the golden man leaned forward, grabbing his arm between slender fingers and forcing it down to his side. He just frowned at the pretty man. "I'm sorry, really. Please don't send me to hell."

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "That's where my grandma went." He said, nodding seriously at the angel. Maybe if he got in with the angel, he wouldn't have to go live with her. She really was scary.

"Chill." He said. "You're not dead. You were in an accident. I have no clue why you're reacting to the medication like this, though. Jesus."

Misha just stared, not really getting it. "An accident?"

The man nodded. "Pretty bad one. You're kinda banged up, and not in the good way." He said slightly sarcastically. Misha picked up on it instantly.

"Hey!" He shouted. "That was funny!"

He got a gold eyed stare in return, other man seemingly shocked for a second.

"Yeah, I'm switching you over to the dantrolene. We'll see how you feel in an hour." He said, marking something on a slip of paper and placing it in his pocket.

"Gesundheit." Misha told him solemnly. Pausing, he grabbed the man's attention.

"It must be hard for you."

The other man frowned. "Hard for me?"

Misha nodded seriously, trying to raise his hand to gesture at the man. "You know, glowing all the time." he giggled a little as the light bounced off his hand.

There was a snort, and then a hand was on his head. He curled into it, all golden warmth and love. It rested lightly there, like the man couldn't believe he was real.

He moaned in protest as the other man took his gold hand away, making Misha pout. He liked the warmth.

"Well, no temp as of now. Your vitals look good." He said, grabbing a clipboard and writing something down. Misha realized with faint amazement that he was wearing a doctor's white coat.

I'll send the new medication in soon. You think you can handle that?" He asked Misha, putting the pen between his teeth as he tried to balance the clipboard with a coffee container, making Misha drool a little.

He realized there had been a question.

"Whaaaaaaat?" He whined at the golden man. "I liked your hand. Put it back." He said pleasingly, trying to make puppy eyes at the man.

"Jesus." The man muttered, grabbing the coffee as he left the room. "Course he would do this. Fucking Christ."

Misha's eyes widened, and he gasped before speaking.

"You said fucking!" He said to the man in shock. "An angel said 'fucking'!"

The man sighed, leaving the room with a door slam just a little on the aggressive side.

A nice nurse came in a few minutes later and gave him something. He couldn't really remember her, but he knew she had blonde hair. He didn't like that. The other man had prettier hair than this girl. It was totally shinier.

He tried to explain this to her, and only got a sweet (and slightly confused) smile as he began to slide back down into the darkness.

"Wait!" He remembered croaking out. "I don't like the gray!" He said anxiously, trying to tell her this. "Please!"

There was a soft pat on his shoulder. "This'll make you feel better, honey." She said. "Doctor's orders."

His to the felt sluggish. "Dooooc-tooorr?" He asked, slurring his words.

She nodded.

"THE Doctor?" He asked. "Doctoooorrr Whooo?"

"Doctor Richards, honey." She said with another pat. "Now go to sleep."

He frowned at her. "Noooo...THE...dooooc-toooorrr..."

He realized he was suddenly very sleepy. Misha knew naps were good; his mom had always made him take one. Naps good.

So, he closed his eyes and slept, dreaming about purple ballerinas and a pair of gold eyes watching him.

He woke this time to the sound of a machine, clicking and whirring like that one time he went to summer camp and freaked all the other kids out when he turned his sonic screwdriver on in the middle of the night.

Misha could tell something was different. He didn't feel all that floaty anymore. Everything was a little clearer. Even the walls didn't glow anymore.

He opened his eyes, acknowledging gratefully that he had feeling in the majority of his body. He wiggled his toes, then his finger, then his eyebrows.

A polite cough shocked him out of his test, and he turned to find the golden man from before watching from the doorway.

Cheeks flooding with embarrassment, he twisted the bed covers in his hand, trying to avoid that fierce stare. Didn't he know staring was rude?

"Mr. Collins," the man said, walking forward, heels echoing in the small room. "Nice to see you awake."

Misha raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't before?" He inquired, curious.

He had to give it to the man; there was no change, not even a flinch. "No. We switched you on some new medication, however. How do you feel?" He asked, eyes flicking over Misha's body.

Misha looked down and saw the cast, frowning. "How bad is it, doc?"

The man frowned briefly at the title. "My name is Dr. Richards. I'm afraid I didn't introduce myself earlier." He said, reaching a hand out. Misha moved his uninjured arm, clasping hands briefly with the other man.

His hand felt warm, and Misha grinned a little at the feeling of comfort it invoked in him.

Huh. Guess the mess hadn't worn off all the way yet.

"You sustained slight internal damage to your right side, including a fractured humerus and a concussion " Richards said, flipping through a chart with sharp precision. "You'll be fine, but you were in the red for a while. You almost bled out on the operating table."

Misha whistled nervously. "You're really famous for your bedside manner, huh?"

Instead of frowning again, Richards actually smiled briefly. "So I've been told."

Misha shifted awkwardly at the pause that followed, avoiding the crux of the problem.

"Mr. Collins." Richards said almost formally. "Do you remember what happened to you? Why you were in an accident in the first place?"

Misha flinched at the concern he found in those eyes.

Yep, that was the problem right there. Couldn't really pretend he didn't remember.

"Ah, amnesia?" Misha asked nervously, reaching his hand up to his head, finding bandages there.

Misha thought he saw Richards roll his eyes at him out of the corner of his eye, but when he glanced back, the man was still staring at him, gold gaze filled with worry.

"Car accident." He told the doctor. "I wrecked the car."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh?"

Misha nodded, swallowing worriedly at the lie. "Wasn't even mine."

The doctor nodded, eyes wide with concern, but he didn't look convinced. There was something he wasn't telling him.

"Shame." He said oddly. Clearing his thoat, he asked another question. "So, it was an accident?"

Misha glared at him in astonishment. "Why wouldn't it be?" He said sharply, staring the other man down.

Richards raised his eyebrows, but didn't respond to the jab. "Back to my original question, then. How are you feeling?"

Misha took a quick catalog, but he guessed the medication was still masking a lot of the pain.

"Achy." He said truthfully. "And a little numb."

Richards nodded like he'd expected that. "Alright. Well, I have no more questions. Do you have any thing to mention before the police come in?"

An icy chill went through Misha. "Police?"

Richards nodded seriously. "Yeah. They found security footage of the crash. Just had a few questions. You know."

Misha nodded after a second, glaring at the man when he turned around to open the door.

Damn sneaky doctors.

He saw the amusement in Richard's eyes as the policemen came in, and gave him a snarky finger wave.

Surprisingly, he got one in return.

* * *

Dean had taken over driving after a few hours, hands finally not shaking enough to drive. Sam had looked exhausted, even though he wouldn't admit it. Dean could see the bags under his eyes, but something drove Sam to keep driving. After a while though, and a lot of pleading on Dean's part, he laid down in the back of the car.

Dean probably would've been laughing at the scene any other day, seeing Sam all scrunched up like an overgrown puppy in the backseat, but the nightmare had really shaken him up.

Sam had noticed this too, he'd realized, so he quickly pulled himself together. Sam didn't need to hear his sob story-if he was going to keep secrets, so could Dean. He could only be grateful that the other man hadn't asked about it yet.

The remnants of the nightmare still shook through him. He could feel the small tremors in his hands; not large enough to notice, but enough to tell Dean even his body knew he wasn't okay, twisted just like John had said.

He could barely look Sam in the eyes, thankful the other man had chosen to sleep. Every glance into those eyes brought up the nightmare again. He'd almost had another panic attack afterwards, seeing nothing but dead green eyes staring into his. He could still feel his father's chuckles reverberating up his spine every time he laid back down against the seat.

So, he'd sat ramrod straight for the rest of the ride (however long that would be) and his body _ached._ But he ignored it. The morning had dawned, but his eyes didn't stray from the road. He had no clue where he was going; maybe Sam knew, maybe not. He was still doubtful it was as bad as it Sam said it was-he hadn't seen any danger yet.

It was a cocky way to think, sure, but if Dean didn't have something to fall back on, he'd tumble into nothingness. He needed something, a shape to conform to, his own attitude, something.

_You'd better change for the better..._ The radio sang softly. _Costs more than dollars and cents..._

Flicking the switch irritably, he turned it off. Mood music was never his thing, and morning radio was all talkshows. He'd been lucky enough to find one playing music, for God's sake.

He tiredly blinked his eyes as a car swerved in front of him, flashing light into the car. He was getting tired, but Sam was still sleeping in the back, and Dean didn't want to wake him. It'd only been a few hours, and Dean had a feeling the taller man didn't usually get this much sleep anyway.

Seeing a sign on the side of the road, an idea sparked in his mind. Taking the exit, he found himself on a pleasant wooded road. He grinned a little and followed the signs.

* * *

It was a small forest park, he found. Old kettles dipped in the land, curving hills cutting into the morning sun. The picnic spot was gorgeous, overlooking a large kettle with a lake inside of it. It wasn't too cold to get out, so Dean did exactly that.

Sitting on the car's hood, he basked in the sun for a little while, letting it burn out the nightmare. Something he'd learned, after a while (and years of nightmares) was that everything looked better in the morning. You weren't as scared. How could you be, when all you saw was light?

At least, that was what Dean thought, and that's what he clung to.

Sam was still asleep in the car, mouth open slightly. Dean grinned at him, feeling more or less content. This wasn't perfect, far from it, but if he'd learned anything, it was to live in the moment.

His stomach growled, and he put a hand to it, trying to remember the last time he'd eaten. With some shock, he realized it had been his date with Sam.

Dean hadn't even eaten all of his food there. Jesus. He'd never gone this long without eating in a while.

It wasn't exactly a reassuring sensation.

Sneaking a look at Sam, he saw the other man was still asleep. Reaching into his pocket, he found his wallet with a smile. He'd get them some food from the snack shack he'd seen and get back before Sam woke up. He hoped Sam liked surprises.

Walking forward, he followed his nose as the scent of processed cheese and cheap hot dogs called to him.

* * *

Sam woke up to the feeling of sunshine on his face, drawing him slowly out of his slumber.

Sitting up slowly, he popped his back, stretching a little in the cramped car. Everything was still a little sleep hazy, but he felt good. Better than he had in a while.

It was strange how one good sleeping session did that to you.

Popping the door open, it occurred to him that the car wasn't moving.

Which meant they were stopped somewhere.

Turning, he eyed the passenger seat, fear growing slowly. It was empty, but the keys were still in the ignition.

Panic flared in his chest, and he rose to his feet quickly.

"Dean?" He called, taking in his surroundings quickly. They were in a park somewhere, all tall trees and pine needles.

No answer.

He grabbed the gun and ran around the car, trying to find a path. God, how could he have been so stupid, sleeping and letting Dean get taken-

Sam followed the road after not finding a path. There were fresh prints in the mud, and his heart leaped in his chest. He could do this, he could find Dean.

"Dean?" He called again, praying it was just a joke and Dean would pop up with a cheeky 'Surprise!'.

Still no answer.

"Goddamit, Dean." He muttered viciously. He knew that nightmare had shaken him up, so why did Dean let Sam drive? Why did _Sam _let Dean drive?

His panic rose a few notches as footsteps sounded on the road in front of him, curving out of sight. He grabbed the gun more tightly, flicking the safety off as he stepped forward slowly.

He'd just raised the gun as a familiar face came around the corner.

Sam watched with a strange sort of detached concern as Dean's face screwed up in surprise.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" Dean yelled, waving hands out. Sam noticed he had white bags in his left hand, and lowered the gun as he finally came to his senses.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean shouted, confused. "Why the fuck do you have the gun out?"

Sam tucked it back away, and instead of answering, grabbed Dean's by the shoulder.

"Why weren't you in the car?" He asked angrily, walking them forcefully away. He hated the forest; there were too many places to hide, to shoot someone from. Just standing with Dean here made his skin crawl. He couldn't lose Dean, couldn't.

"I was just getting food!" Dean said angrily in return. "Jesus, let me go!"

Sam couldn't. "We need to get back to the car."

Dean shoved Sam off of him, stumbling back a little as Sam barely moved. "What the hell? It's fine! Chill!"

Sam walked behind Dean, herding him to the car. "Get in."

Dean balked, standing outside of the car. "No."

Sam sighed impatiently, skin still crawling. "Dean. It's not safe."

He watched as Dean's face flushed with anger, hands twisting in the white paper bags. "Yeah, you keep saying that Sam. But you know what? I haven't seen anything yet! If I didn't trust you, am I'm not sure I really do, I'd say you were making it up!"

Sam froze, closing his eyes briefly as he tried to clamp down on his anger. "You are, Dean. It's not fake, this is-"

"What, right in my face? Are armed assassins going to some shoot me? Twist my neck if I leave you? Goddamnit Sam, you won't even tell me why we're running!"

He couldn't watch Dean's face, couldn't meet his green eyes. Dean was right. He wasn't being fair about this.

Didn't he understand that he couldn't be fair about it?

He tried to reach out a hand, but Dean stepped back towards the driver's seat of the car, fire in his eyes.

"Dean," Sam murmured. "Please, just get in the car. I promise I'll explain, please."

A strange emotion twisted across Dean's face, and he surprisingly agreed. "Fine, I'll get in."

Sam nodded, sleep still heavy in his head. He got in the passenger side, slamming his door shut as Dean got in next to him.

He'd just turned to continue their conversation when he heard a familiar sound.

All the door locks clicked shut with a honk as Dean pressed the button, standing outside the car. Sam rose up and banged on the window, shock and a little bit of hurt running through him.

"Dean, damn it!" He screamed. "Let me out!"

He saw Dean shake his head, strange emotion flitting across his face.

"I need an hour, okay Sam? An hour." He heard though the glass. "I'll be back soon; I saw a town a mile or two from here. Gimme an hour. Please?"

"Dean!" Sam screamed, breath fogging up the glass.

"I'm sorry Sam." He heard, and Dean started walking away.

"DEAN!"

* * *

A/N So, review? Right idea?


	16. Chapter 16

A/N So, as always, thanks to y'all for the reviews. if-llamas-could-fly:Where's your new chapter? I keep posting long chaps and you haven't fulfilled my need for Lucifer-ness.

Longer update! I hope everyone's happy, cause I sure am. Love to my beta, who let me bounce ideas off of her again. She's off watching ten inch hero, awesome movie btw (with a certain fave actor whose name starts with J and ends with ensen Ackles)

A/N 2 Reviews are love, and I've gotten so much of it I might cry. If you're the type who skips over A/Ns, rest assured that you are still loved if you don't see this post. Not sure when the next update is...you guys wanna threaten me so I'll be motivated? Lol.

* * *

The walk to the town he'd seen was longer than he thought it was; maybe after driving for so long, distances looked different. Dean dirt really know, didn't really care, frankly. His anger at Sam was still boiling, and his breaths were still coming shallowly. He didn't know why he'd exploded back there; part anger and cabin fever, maybe?

Could you even get cabin fever in a car?

He felt bad about locking Sam in the car. Honestly, the idea hasn't even come to him until he'd seen the military grade locks on the car-something Dean actually had done a report on in the only year he took of engineering school.

Sam had still been slamming his hands against the window, screams muffled by the glass. He'd looked furious, angrier than even Dean had felt.

He had no clue what Sam's problem was. They hadn't stopped driving in what felt like forever, and for him to freak out over something as unreasonable as food? Was ridiculous.

He calmed down as he walked the two miles to the town, put at ease by the warm sun and cool breeze. The side of the road wasn't anywhere he'd ever imagined he'd be, but the tall trees made it almost scenic.

Better than sitting in a car, anyways.

And, to be honest, there wasn't really any danger out in bumfuck wherever they were. Dean would bet his left arm there wasn't anything dangerous for miles except a chipmunk or two.

He'd told Sam he just wanted an hour, but maybe he could change his mind. He was so tired of driving, so tired of being told he was in danger.

Wasn't it Sam's fault they were in this mess in the first place? Couldn't Sam just have gone and left Dean alone if the danger was so bad? It wasn't Dean they were after, he was pretty sure. Sam was the prince, supposedly. And yet, he kept reassuring him Dean was in danger.

Which meant Sam was hiding things from him.

Which brought up a lot of questions he didn't want to think about.

He walked for what felt like days, but must have only been a few minutes. The edge of the town came into view, and Dean smiled a little.

There were shops lining the high street, touristy knick-knacks blanketing the windows. People were already milling around, opening stores and taking to other town members.

He wondered if they had a bus station or something. Dean barely had half a clue where he was, in all honesty. He hadn't even asked Sam, blindly trusting him for the first few hours.

He hated being disoriented. He even hated getting shit faced drunk. Misha had done that to him once, and the next morning Dean had woken up in someone else's house with no memory of it at all.

He remembered how he'd panicked, grabbing his jacket and stumbling out into the street, cursing Misha like a sailor. Dean hated not being in control. Hated it.

Except for in bed, but that was a completely different story.

Shaking his head, he walked into a pleasant looking diner, anticipating a meal he didn't have to eat cramped up inside a car.

* * *

Misha wasn't a very perceptive person. He'd never managed to congratulate someone on their new hair cut, or piercing, or whatever. You could probably have a sex change and Misha wouldn't notice. It was just how he rolled, he told Dean all the time, but the other man had always rolled his eyes and gone back to being all mopey.

So, unsurprisingly, for the first day in the hospital, Misha hadn't noticed Dr. Richards watching him. He'd been a pleasant doctor, sure, checking in every few hours, but that all seemed normal to Misha. What didn't seem normal some time later, was how many times Richards seemed to pass his doorway.

It hadn't occurred to him at first; pain meds would do that to ya, make the world all glossy, but when those wore off, he got a weird feeling about it.

From what he could tell, his room was at the end of the ICU hall, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Even the nurses didn't come in as often as Richards, and he never heard the busy sounds he'd imagine he would hear in a busy ICU wing.

The time he finally noticed was when the doctor passed by his room three times in one hour. Misha actually counted, keeping his head down so the doctor thought he couldn't see him. Cautious gold eyes passed over him quickly, and then the doctor went back down the hallway, white coat trailing after him.

When he passed by again the next hour for the check up, Misha confronted him subtly.

Well, he was usually as subtle as a really fucking big asteroid, but he liked to think he could change to fit certain situations.

"So, how are your other patients?" Misha asked as the doctor went over his chart. Misha didn't miss the way he looked over him, like he was being protective.

Misha knew that because that was the way Dean looked at him sometimes, even though Misha was older and was usually trying to take care of Dean. He was like the moody little brother everyone sort of hates but likes a lot if only for the comic relief.

"My other patients?" Richards asked, gold eyebrows going up in slight surprise. "Fine, why do you ask?"

Misha shook his head, trying to look innocent. "No reason. It's just, you don't look really busy..."

Richards did that fake little chuckle thing that Misha had seen Dean do a lot of times. It said 'Haha, what are you talking about? That's so funny I'm not even going to tell you what the truth is.'

He really hated it when people brushed him off.

"You worry about recuperating, and I'll worry about my work schedule, okay?" Richards asked with a smile that looked right and faked, not even reaching his eyes.

Actually, his eyes didn't look good at all. They looked bruised and sleepless, like he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a while. Misha looked the doctor over again, finding what he'd missed the last time.

Richards looked pale in his white coat, which was rumpled like he'd been sleeping on a cot somewhere in the building. His hair was out of place a little, fluffing around his head in a way that would have been adorable if he hasn't looked so exhausted.

Misha frowned at the doctor, not liking what this meant. "Have you been spying on me?" He asked suspiciously after a second, knowing it wasn't the most normal question people asked the doctor.

"What?" Richards exclaimed, picking up another chart. "Why would you ask something like that?"

Actually, Misha could remember him standing out in the hallway she he was talking to the police. He'd still been dopey then, but two gold eyes had been watching him. He was sure now.

"Well, firstly, you've been a total stalker." Misha told him. "You keep peering in on me. Unless you're some kind of weirdo pervert who gets off on guys in casts, it kinda makes me wonder, you know? Also, you asked me those weird questions about the accident." He told Richards, who met him with tired eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." The doctor replied calmly, running a hand through his hair. "Now, if you'll just-"

He was cut off by the tinny sound of a cheap cell phone coming from his coat pocket. Frowning, Richards looked at Misha.

"Excuse me for a second." He told Misha, look of worry etched onto his face.

Turning away, he brought out a small flip cell phone, the kind that you bought for short uses. That made Misha even more nervous, because that was also the kind of phone hired killers used, and he really didn't want to die.

"Yeah?" He heard Richards say as he walked out the door. Misha watched him talk on the phone through the small window on the side of his room.

He saw Richard's lips move, words flowing quickly. He saw a familiar word, it almost looked like..

"Dean locked you in a car?" He heard Richards shout in surprise, then quiet down. He couldn't hear the words anymore, but Gabriel looked furious, pacing the room outside of Misha's room.

The other person must have been speaking, because the doctor pressed his lips together in anger, listening intently. He spoke again after a second, face looking a little calmer. The doctor hung up a second later, flipping the cell phone closed and putting it back in his coat.

Dr. Richards walked back in with a serene expression on his face, like nothing had happened.

Misha wasn't buying it for a second.

"Cut the crap." He said sharply, sitting up as much as he could. Misha grinned a little as the doctor's face went slack, staring at Misha in surprise.

"I know you're lying to me-and now you're talking to someone on the phone about Dean. There's something you're not telling me, asshole, and you'd better start talking."

Richards closed his eyes, opening them to reveal slightly irritated but much less fake gold irises staring back at him.

"Fine." He said in a tone that was radically different from the cherry one he'd used before. Actually, his whole posture seemed to change, and he stalked back to Misha's bed quickly, seemingly taller with every step.

"You wanna know what's going on?" Richards asked. "I know you know it wasn't an accident, the car crash."

He looked at Misha for acknowledgement. Misha nodded reluctantly after a second, not saying anything.

"I saw the tapes." Richards said, then clarified. "Of the crash. I know two men came up to you after they ran Dean's car up the road. And I think you know that too."

Misha looked away, not meeting the doctor's eyes.

Richards continued. "Now Dean is in danger because of us. And you got hurt in the crossfire."

Misha whipped his head back to look at the man. "What the hell do you mean?"

Richards closed his eyes again, like he didn't want to tell him. He sighed.

"They thought you were Dean." He told Misha. "Single male driver in a conspicuous Chevy Impala. Dark night. Empty road."

Misha felt shock drop through him, but he didn't let it encompass him. "Why were they after Dean?" He asked angrily, staring at the doctor.

This time Richards looked away.

"You've met Sam, haven't you." He said more than asked, looking down at his hands in an odd way. He didn't look eager to continue.

Misha felt the truth slowly work itself out in his head, and he didn't ask Richards to continue.

"It's because...Sam's a...Sam's royalty, right?" He asked after a second, praying it wasn't true, it wasn't this bad..

Richards looked up in surprise. "You've worked it out already?" He asked, gold eyes widening.

Misha nodded slowly. "Dean and I, we kinda guessed, but it didn't seem...possible." He told the doctor sheepishly. "I'm still barely keeping up with this. It wasn't till after those two men talked over me I even started guessing."

Richards stared at him intently. "What did they say?"

Misha shuddered, remembering the brief interlude of pain before unconsciousness. "I was still a little awake, you know? But I could barely see, and then these two shadows walked over me. I guess it's the two men you were talking about." He said, shrugging at the doctor.

"One of them nudged me a little, and then one went 'Is that him?' and the other guy said no. Then he kinda started talking in another language, and I passed out."

"Another language?" Richards asked. "Do you think it was french?"

"I don't know." Misha said, shrugging again. "I wasn't real coherent."

Richards nodded at this. "Alright."

"Alright?" Misha asked in surprise. "What are we supposed to do now? Where's Dean and Sam?" He asked worriedly.

"They're...safe at the moment, as far as I can tell." Richards said with a little hesitation. "Dean's being difficult, but Sam's trying to keep them under the radar. They were in here right after your crash, but you were still under from the medication."

"Of course he's being difficult." Misha said, then turned a curious eye to the doctor. "Are you even really a doctor? Or are you just a really good actor or something?"

"I'm a friend of Sam's." He told Misha. "I am a real doctor, though. I work here, and Sam works at the school."

"Undercover?" Misha asked. Richards nodded in reply.

"Is Richards even your last name?" He asked dubiously after a second.

Richards grinned for a second, golden eyes lighting up with a little mischief, then shook his head.

"Winchester's not Sam's last name either. It's Renard. Crown Prince Samuel Renard." He said. "My name's Gabriel." Richards offered after a second.

Misha closed his eyes, processing all this. Opening them, he watched as Gabriel's eyes flash with worry for a second.

"What's the story?" He asked. "Why are you two...on the run?" Misha said, trying to find the right term.

Gabriel sighed, grabbing his clipboard again (probably as an excuse not to talk anymore).

"That's Sam's story to tell."

* * *

It was pretty much almost an hour before Sam realized there was an extra cell phone in the car's glove compartment. He'd tried breaking the window, but whatever the hell this car was, it was nearly unbreakable. Trust Gabriel to have an armor enforced car hiding somewhere that looked just like a normal automobile.

High grade security locks meant he couldn't get out from the inside, kind of like child locks. (The humor wasn't lost on him)

If he was right, there was a security override somewhere, but he wasn't sure. After digging through the car, he'd found the phone under the (fake) registry in the glove compartment, and called Gabriel's new number, glad he'd memorized it.

"Yeah?" Came Gabe's voice."

"It's me." Sam said. "I'm sort of stuck."

"Stuck?"

"Stuck." He confirmed, patience wearing thin.

"How bad is it?" The doctor asked, and the sound of shuffling filled his ear. Gabe must still be at the hospital. Oh yeah, Misha.

"Dean locked me in a car." He said, feeling a mixture of anger and sheepishness.

"Dean locked you in a car?" Gabe shouted.

"Shhhhh!" Sam said. "I just need to find the override switch. I can't believe you got this kind of car."

Gabe sounded angry when he responded. "Under the radio compartment, there's a small wire. You have to cut into it while pressing the 'ON' button on the car. Don't ask me, I don't know why." He said, then explained the rest of the schematics to Sam.

"How the hell did he pull one on you? Where did he go?" Gabe asked after a second, frustration clear in his voice.

"We had a fight. He was driving before, so he had the keys. Dean said he'd be back in a hour. I think he went into some small town nearby, but I'm not sure."

He bent over the console and began following Gabe's instructions, finding the wire with ease.

"This is shitty, Sam. They could have already found him."

Sam sighed. "I know. They move too fast for us to keep up. I guess we can only hope Dean threw them off by driving into this park."

"You're in a park?"

"Yeah." Sam said. "What else has tons of trees and a snack shack?" He asked sarcastically, smiling a little as the doors unlocked.

This time Gabriel sighed. "I can't do much from here, but good luck, alright?"

"Alright." Sam said, flipping the phone closed and stepping out of the car.

Finding his gun, he placed it at the small of his back as he began a brisk jog towards the highway.

He needed to find Dean before they did.

* * *

The diner was nice, but the food was even better. Dean loved bacon, and bacon loved Dean today, apparently.

He had been eating for about half an hour now, just sitting down and luxuriating in the fact that he didn't have to eat another lukewarm sandwich in the back of the car. This was real food, and when his stomach growled, the waitress (a nice old lady) came over and took his order straight away.

People had been filing in for about fifteen minutes now; it looked like the start of the food rush. Dean just sipped his coffee, pulling out his wallet to lay down a nice tip for the waitress. A pack of guys had just sat down at the booth across from his, and he smiled as she shimmied over, ready to take orders.

The door dinged as he left, and he didn't notice the extra shuffle of feet from behind him it covered. Stretching a little, he smiled as he saw the storefronts. He still had a half hour or so until he told Sam he'd come and get the guy out, and that made him feel a little guilty, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.

Dean walked down the high street, browsing a few gift shops. He was amused by the small knick knacks and candies; it'd been a long time since he'd been out of the city and in the country.

He was so captivated by the small town that he didn't even notice he was being followed until he got to the edge of town, ready to go back to Sam.

Maybe.

Dean had just reached the sign saying he was leaving the town when a heel caught him in the back, making him tumble painfully to the ground.

He looked up through a haze of pain to see the four men from the diner, all dressed in dark clothes and jeans. One of them stood in front, presumably the one who'd knocked Dean over.

He tried to roll back up to his knees, but the pain in his back was too intense. He gasped as another heel connected with his ribs, thankfully not strong enough to break them.

It was kind of sad he knew that.

"Where's the prince?" The lead one asked, raising a gun threateningly.

Dean shut his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. "What the hell are you talking about?" He asked, trying to get the whole 'I'm innocent and don't know a thing' voice down.

Another swift kick connected with his side. "Tell me or I shoot your knee out." The man said as he clicked the safety off on the gun.

Dean took a breath and didn't answer.

He felt the punch connect to his face a second after the blood started running down his face. He made a small noise of pain, but didn't answer. After a second, he was coherent enough to run a hand over the injury. A small cut on his cheekbone and a bloody gum inside of his mouth.

"Tell me."

Dean curled up on the ground, refusing to answer.

The man grunted something to the other men in another language, and they dragged him to his knees, one on each arm.

"Now, or I shoot." He said. "Actually, even better." He said, digging in his pocket for something. Producing a small black cell phone, he threw it on the ground in front of Dean.

"Call him. Get him to come here. Or I'll do more than shoot your knees out." He said menacingly, and Dean didn't doubt him one second.

_Sam..._He thought after a second. _I'm really sorry I didn't listen to you._

There was no way to get to Sam; as far as Dean knew, he was still in the car. Without a cell phone, since Sam had insisted on smashing both of theirs.

He was just about to dial a number (whatever popped into his head, he was so desperate) when Sam strode out of the forest to their left.

"Sam?" He whispered in shock. The other men turned, not quick enough. Sam had a gun in his hand, and he looked _dangerous._

There was a short series of popping noises, and two of the men fell to the ground, groaning and holding their knees.

_Haha. Take that, you sadistic bastards. _Dean thought at the men. _Karma's a bitch._

The other men were scrambling, and the lead one brought his gun up quickly to dispatch Sam.

He wasn't quick enough. Sam started running, then, dodging and rolling until he was right next to the man, who still tried (kind of dumbly) to aim for him.

Sam rolled, getting up and sweeping one of the goon's legs out from under him. The guy snapped up, just in time for Sam to grab the lead guy's arm and thrust the gun out of it, making it fall into the grass somewhere. He tucked his own gun away. Dean guessed it was too tight of a fight for it to be of any use.

Sam moved fluidly, maneuvering between the two men like he was born fighting. A quick punch here, a graceful kick there, and the men were surprised looking. Sam was holding his own, probably not what they expected.

"Looking for me?" Sam asked the two men as they backed up for a second. "I was expecting better, honestly." He said sarcastically, and why was Sam suddenly Mr. Sarcasm in a fight?

The men's response was to leap forward, trying to get Sam down with a perfectly executed swing.

Sam dodged it, fasted than Dean could see, and spun to the right, whipping his long, muscled arm across the man's face, drawing him into a chokehold. Using the struggling man's body, he shoved him into the other man, who was charging.

They both fell on top of each other, and Sam took the opportunity to snap a fist into the first guy's face. He struggled vainly as Sam brought his gun around, using the butt of it to knock him out. He fell limp across the other man, who pushed up and tried to take a swing at Sam.

Sam grinned, all teeth and cold eyes, and knocked the man out like the other one. He fell to the ground and didn't move.

Dean could barely believe what he'd seen. He tried getting up again to check on Sam, but his ribs flared up again and he fell to the ground.

"Dean?" He heard, and Sam was suddenly next to him. "Oh shit, don't move. I think he got your ribs pretty good. Might've broken them."

Dean grunted in response, and helped Sam get him to his feet. He felt like his ribs were on fire, but he got up anyways.

"Sam?" He asked after a second, leaning on the other man's arm.

"Yeah, Dean?" He heard, and Sam looked at him after scanning the area with a precision that frightened him.

"I'm really sorry I didn't listen to you."

Sam sighed. "I am too." He said simply, then put his gun back at the small of his back. "Let's get out of here before they wake up. We need to get moving before this gets worse than it already was."

Dean nodded, and began limping forward.

"Dean," Sam said after a few yards, voice heavy. "Never do that again."

He put his face against Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry Sam."

He heard the shuddering breath Sam took in, but didn't question it and kept walking.

* * *

A/N So, next chapter is Sam's backstory! I'm kind of excited...is that bad? Hope you like the long chapter!


	17. Chapter 17

A/N Shorter update...I'll miss you guys over the weekend. Not sure when the next chapter will be up...*sobs quietly in corner*

* * *

_Misha says Dean knows about your alter ego." Gabriel said into the cell phone. "You're gonna have to talk to Dean eventually. This can't keep happening."_

_Sam sighed, rubbing a hand as he watched Dean wince a little, trying to get comfortable. "I know." He said, moving a strand of hair out of his vision. "How did they find out?" He asked curiously, smiling a little at the game they'd been playing. Dean had known, but had played dumb._

_Why?_

_"I haven't gotten it out of him yet." Gabe said. "But you're going to have to tell him why this is important. He won't trust you if you keep secrets, Sam."_

_Sam sighed again. "Damn drama. Okay, fine." He said irritably. "Go watch Misha."_

_"Aye aye." Gabe said, then hung up. Sam turned back to Dean, knowing a lot was going to change in the next half hour._

* * *

They made it back to the car as quickly as they could, Dean limping painfully on Sam. The taller man didn't really say anything, urging them on faster until they made it back into the safety of the forest.

The second Sam got Dean into the passenger seat, he began running his hands over his injuries, prodding on the already swelling bruises lightly.

"Ouch." Dean hissed, gripping the side of the car door as Sam knelt between his legs.

"You know, normally when a guy is on his knees in front of me, I'm having more fun." He told Sam, but the joke was ruined by another hiss of pain.

Sam stood up, frown on his face. "I don't think you broke any, but they're certainly bruised badly." He told Dean, grabbing something from the backpack in the trunk. His cell phone rang, and Sam held up a hand.

"Yeah?" He asked. Dean couldn't hear the reply, but Sam's face shifted subtly.

The conversation lasted for about thirty seconds, and Sam hung up, grabbing the first aid kit.

Dean sighed as Sam cracked a portable ice pack, laying it on the bruises gently. His cheek and lip still throbbed a little, but the bleeding had stopped and he barely noticed it in comparison to his ribs.

"Who was that?" He asked.

"Just Gabe." Sam said, handing him two pills. "Misha woke up, and he's doing good. You're gonna have to swallow those dry." He told Dean.

"Gabe?" Dean asked curiously.

"A friend of mine. You know him as Dr. Richards."

Dean gaped, then thought. "What else aren't you telling me? And what are we gonna do now?" He asked Sam once he'd swallowed the pills, holding the ice pack against his chest and wincing as Sam maneuvered him by his legs into the car.

"Lots." Sam said. "Hide out somewhere till you can get better." Sam said, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe give you a weapon, I don't know. You familiar with guns?" The taller man asked Dean, hazel eyes serious.

He shook his head. "No." He said, only half lying. "Never used one."

"Well, that's what we'll start with, that and getting you better."

He got into the car next to Dean, cranking the engine over and backing up slowly until they hit the forest path. He maneuvered them onto the highway quickly, and the. dean spoke.

"You make it sound pretty long term." Dean said cautiously, knowing the topic was the reason they'd fought in the first place.

Sam's face didn't change, but the skin around his eyes tightened a little bit, along with the hands on the steering wheel.

"It's going to end, or at least, I thought it would." Sam said, taking a deep breath. "I'm not sure now."

Silence.

"They wanted you." Dean said after a second, not really wanting to relive the attack but knowing it was important. "They thought I could get you for them."

Sam nodded, but he didn't look angry like Dean thought he would. He almost appeared accepting.

"Misha told Gabe that you guys figured out who I am." Sam said after a second, words flat and devoid of his usual energy.

Dean paused, not sure how to respond to that.

"You're some kind of...I don't know." Dean said. "Prince?"

Sam nodded gracefully, eyes still on the road.

"And they're after you because of this." Dean said. "They're after me because they know I'm with you." He told the brown haired man.

"Yeah." Sam briskly.

Dean grew irritated with the short responses. "Aren't you gonna tell me why they're after you?" He asked sharply, wincing as the words made Sam flinch as well.

"It's a long story." Sam said.

"It always goddamned is!" Dean shouted.

Sam turned to him at that, eyes bright with anger. "I didn't say I wouldn't tell you." He said quickly. "I'm saying lets get some miles between us and those bastards and we'll talk. I'll tell you everything, answer all your questions. But let's just get out of here, okay?"

Dean turned away, watching the scenery as they passed by the trees. The day didn't look quite as inviting anymore, unsurprisingly.

"Okay." He muttered, and tried to get in a comfortable position for the ride.

* * *

"When I was twelve, I learned what the word 'gay' meant for the first time." Sam started, hands clasped in front of him in an uncharacteristically doubtful way. It was later evening now, and they'd stopped for the night at a nondescript motel. Sam was sitting on the bed in front of Dean, lights dim, making shadows play across his face. Dean was still on the bed, barely moving. He didn't know if it was the pain or the curiosity.

"When you're growing up in such a...I wouldn't call it sheltered..environment, there are things you need to know, and things you don't. You needed to know how to smile, to use the right fork, yada yada. No one explained it to me until then, when I met Gabe."

"Gabe?" Dean asked, laid back on the motel pillows, watching Sam.

Sam smiled a little. "Gabe became our family doctor that year. Pretty much everything I know came from him."

"Isn't he a little young to be a doctor?" Dean asked, promising himself this was the last time he'd interrupt.

"He was a prodigy." Sam said. "The very best, so of course we had him. We became good friends, even if he's about ten years older than me. My best friend. Not even my siblings were that close."

He took a breath and started again.

"Nevertheless, I was close to my little sister. She'd always accepted me, and once I'd stammered out my sexuality to Gabriel a few years later, he told me I should tell her."

Sam twisted his fingers together. "I was in my room, and she came in. I finally got around to telling her, scared, even though I was about twenty and the face of the royal family. I was crown prince, after all, next in line for the crown. The last person anyone needed to be gay." He said painfully, gaze still on his hands. Dean wished he could comfort him, but didn't know what to do.

"I didn't know my younger brother, Adam, was passing by my room that night. He heard everything."

Sam shuddered at the memory. "Once my sister left, I felt amazing. Better than I had in what seemed like forever. She'd been so accepting, telling me she loved me and that she was there for me." Sam paused. "I didn't actually tell you her name, did I?" He said, frowning briefly. "It's a complicated Dutch name, so we just call her Jo." He said, then got back on topic.

"Adam, he came into my room later that night. He confronted me, calling me a..." Sam paused, apparently choked up. "He called me a disgrace to the family, an unnatural piece of trash who didn't deserve to wear the crown." He said, emotion tangible in his voice.

"He..he started hitting me when I didn't answer him. I let him. He broke my nose and three ribs, along with a hairline fracture on my wrist and this." He said, lifting his hair and pointing at a scar on his hairline.

"Jo, she heard him throwing me around and got Gabe. I don't know how she knew, but I think she and Gabe saved my life." He said, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

Dean closed his eyes at that, pain lancing through him. He knew this story too well.

"Gabe came in, saw that I wouldn't fight Adam." Sam continued. "I wouldn't hurt him back, Dean." Sam said wretchedly. "I don't know if it was shock, or just him reacting the way, but I just let him hit me. He's a little shorter than me, but quick. Gabriel hit him over the head with something heavy, I don't remember what it was, and he dragged me out of there. I spent the night in his quarters, and he took care of me. By morning, he knew my injuries were bad enough to need a hospital, so he snuck me out."

He smiled bitterly.

"Some part of me was hoping it was all just a bad nightmare, but when I was settled in at the hospital, Adam found us again. I have no clue how." Sam took a deep breath again.

"He tried to kill me that time. I can still remember the gun, Dean. I think his eyes were the worst, though, because I'd never seen that much hate in them. Never.

"Gabe saw again, thank god, and came rushing in, knocked the gun out of his hands and got him away from me. We called security, but Adam ran, and I never saw him again.

"The next day, Gabe tried calling my parents, but Adam had already spun some lie to them, something about me running away. We were about to return after I had gotten better, but Adam had gotten craftier."

Sam sighed, un-clenching his hands and running one through his silky hair.

"I had never seen him jealous before. He was always cordial to me, sure, but we never progressed past that. He was second born, not in line for the crown unless I was incapacitated..or..you know, dead." He got out through gritted teeth.

"From what I could pick up under the radar, he'd hired people. Not only did he hate me because I was gay, but he..." Sam broke off. "He used it as an excuse to kill me and get the crown. Like that was all it was about."

Dean waited as Sam tried to get himself together, own throat hurting.

"The second we saw the hired teams, Gabriel packed everything and ran. I was barely back on my feet by then." He smiled bitterly. "I could barely stand up in the customs line.

"Once we got to America, we stayed with some friends of Gabe's. I didn't ask how he knew them, and he never explained, but they were pleasant people. They let us stay with them for months, until Gabe got a job working as an ER doctor and I started looking around for work."

Dean stared intently as Sam sighed again.

"The official story the royal press was given was that I was convalescing at an undisclosed location, and after that, little semi-believable snippets here and there. It's been about three years now." Sam said, surprised.

"When we were staying with Gabe's friends, I had just gotten my job when they found us again. It'd been a while, and I got cocky. I thought I could play hero." He snorted.

"I bought a gun the month before, on Gabriel's recommendation. I had been training to use it for a few weeks, and I felt good. I didn't feel like I was going to get beat up again, you know? I wasn't going to be thrown into some wall. I was going to fight."

Dean looked at him sympathetically.

"One of the girls who lived in the house with me, Ava, I think her name was, got home late and was in there with me when they came.

"They shot her as soon as they walked in, and I barely made it out alive." He said in one quick flurry, like he couldn't bare to say the words much less hear them. "I had to run, couldn't stand up like I thought I could. And Ava got caught in the crossfire of my mistake. She was my punishment."

He took another shuddering breath, leaning forward on the bed a little bit.

"I found Gabe at the hospital and we ran. Couldn't even go back and get our stuff. We heard about her death on the news the next morning, and Gabe hasn't..hasn't looked at me the same way since."

Dean felt tears pooling in his eyes at the sorrow Sam was exhibiting.

"So, that's why you can't go Dean." He said painfully. "Because if you die..." He trailed off.

"That's on me, Dean." Sam said wretchedly, voice barely above a whisper. "That's on me."

The room went silent, and Sam leaned his head forwards, face obscured by shadows and his hair.

Dean was about to ask a question when he heard a small _pat _on the comforter by his feet.

He realized with some surprise that Sam was crying.

Leaning up painfully, and biting off the curse at the pain it caused, he maneuvered himself next to Sam.

"Shhhh." He said as sobs began to wrack his body. "It's alright, Sam."

He felt warmth at his neck, and Sam pulled him gingerly until his head was on his shoulder. The taller man quieted after a few minutes, even though Dean could still feel his erratic heart beat.

Dean wrapped a leg around him and drew them back slowly onto the bed, wincing but pulling it off. Sam curled up next to him, eyes red and puffy before they closed. He snuggled into Dean, long limbs comfortably warm against Dean's side.

After a while, the tears stopped leaking out of Sam's eyes, and the older man was asleep, soft breaths vibrating against Dean's side. He stared at the ceiling still awake.

Sam was always so sure of himself, teaching little kids and even when he took Dean out. He was always the confident person in the room; Dean had seen the way people lit up around him. To see him like this, so vulnerable even after he took out all those men today...

Well, it was unsettling.

Bringing Sam's head closer to his head, he whispered against his lover's ear.

"I won't make you go through that again, Sam." He said softly, and closed his own eyes, drifting off to the sound of the other man's heartbeat.

* * *

A/N So, I'm kind of having a sad week, and there hasn't been a lot of feedback on these latest chapters. I know people do the whole dramatic "do you think I should continue this story?" thing (I did it too, earlier) But I'm having kind of having doubts...I know, big difference from last week's ANs. Maybe it's just a case of the Fridays?


	18. Chapter 18

A/N Shorter update! *sobs quietly* Real life is real tough sometimes, eh? This is a weirdly structured chapter, kind of a filler, but I'm crossing my fingers I get the next chapter up on Friday. Thank you for all your amazing reviews, I love all of you!

Flames will be dampened by the pure awesomeness dripping off of the next chapter. Jus sayin.

* * *

_"What do you mean the insurance won't cover it?" John shouted into the phone, fists clenched as he sat at the kitchen table._

_Dean watched wide-eyed as the person on the other end of the phone spoke quickly, but the murderous expression on his father's face didn't change._

_"People like you disgust me. I deserve better!" John said viciously before hanging up the phone, silence echoing around the kitchen._

_Dean stood near Mom, not daring to get in his dad's face. She curled her hand out like she wanted to grab him but decided against it, tucking her hand against her nightgown and walking up to John instead._

_"We'll find another way." She said reassuringly to John, massaging his shoulders softly. She looked tense, like John was a firecracker about to go off._

_"God fucking dammit!" John said, putting his hands up to his temples. He flinched a little as he tried to get up, twisting until his breaths came faster._

_Mary's hands pushed him gently back into the seat, making sure not to jostle where John's right leg had been. Dean hadn't gotten used to not seeing a limb there yet, but he knew he shouldn't speak up. Mom said Dad was going through enough already._

_"Don't try to move." Mom said to John, placing a hand against his jaw reassuringly._

_"We'll figure this out." She said, staring into John's eyes and trying to be rational in spite of the defeat he could see in both of their eyes. She placed a hand on his shoulder like she was daring Dean to question her loyalty._

_John took his hands away from his face, grabbing the near empty container of pain pills from the doctor. He popped two of them into his mouth, washing it down with the whiskey Mary got as a present from some coworkers._

_Dean froze at the sight. His father never drank. There was an ironclad rule in John's house: alcohol was dangerous and not to be consumed. He'd enforced it so strictly that Dean could barely believe his own eyes as John tipped the amber liquid back._

_"You're...drinking?" He asked, not realizing he's said it out loud until two pairs of eyes turned to him quickly, one furious and the other worried._

_"Get out." John said in his military voice that he never used with them. It was cold, sharp, and angrier than it ever needed to be. "Get him the fuck out."_

_Mad flinched at the words and didn't defend Dean like she usually did. John never talked like this, or Mary would have his head._

_When Dean and Mary didn't move, a vein started to bulge in John's temple._

_"Dad?" Dean asked hesitantly after a second, unmoving._

_There was silence as John turned his face away from him._

_"Get out. Both of you just GET OUT!" John screamed, face red. John NEVER yelled, so even Mary flinched released her hand from his shoulder, stumbling quickly over to Dean as they both fled the room, knowing something had just been lost and was never, ever coming back._

* * *

"What is the name of the 80's band that wrote the single "Karma Chameleon? A, New Order, B, Bananarama, or C, Boy George?"

Misha glanced at the doctor in front of him, trying to see if there was a tell hiding in his face that Misha didn't know about.

Two gold eyes stared back at him unflinchingly over the small card, not giving anything away. Misha cursed to himself as he gave up, guessing horrendously.

"Bananarama? They're both tropical, right? Bananas and Chameleons?" He said as Gabriel burst out laughing. Misha was pretty sure he was blushing.

"Man, you suck!" He told the other man as he pouted, leaning back into the pillows. "I wasn't born in the eighties like you, asshole."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the curse but smothered his laughter. "I'm sorry." He said sincerely, emotion cracking as he turned to the side with an only slightly hidden giggle.

"It was your idea to play eighties trivia anyway." Gabriel said when Misha graced him with a look again. "We could've played cards or something."

"It's not so easy to play cards one handed." Misha snarled at him playfully, lifting his cast covered arm slightly. "I'd like to see you try and cheat a cripple! God, you're so annoying."

Gabriel smiled at that, corners of his eyes crinkling. "That I am."

There was a companionable silence as the next card got shuffled.

"What actor was famous for their love of cats?" Gabriel asked, face screwed up at the card like it was offensive.

He must be a dog person.

"Cats?" Misha asked, thinking. "I...wait a minute."

Gabriel looked at him, concerned.

"Oh shit!" Misha exclaimed, trying to get upright.

"What? What?" Gabriel asked quickly, humor dropping from his face as he scrambled to his feet, face full of worry.

"I forgot about Dean's cats! Shit!"

Gabriel frowned at him. "Deano has cats?" He asked, placing a hand to his heart dramatically. "Here I was thinking you were having a heart attack or something!"

Misha ignored him as he tried to find his back pocket where he kept his phone. He realized pretty quickly that hospital gowns didn't have pockets and he didn't know where his cell phone was.

"Where's my cell phone?" He asked Gabriel, close to freaking out. "God, how many days has it been? I can't believe I forgot!"

Gabriel made a calming motion with his hands. "Chill. Lets stop to think for a second. Is there anybody you know who could take care of them?" He asked, staring Ito Misha's eyes.

"No, I don't-no." He said. "I kind of don't really..."

He mumbled he last part.

"What was that?" Gabriel asked.

"I kindofdon'thavefriends." Misha said, spitting the words out. He'd just gotten cool with the doctor, too. Now he probably thought he was a loser.

"Then we'll just have to figure something out." The doctor said, looking thoughtful. "I don't know that-"

He cut off as the door opened and a tall blonde haired man walked in, looking preoccupied.

"Dr. Richards, you're needed in the conference room." He said, accent making the words twist. He was British, almost obscenely sounding so. The man wore a white jacket like Gabriel, and had the bored expression most of the nurses walked around with.

"Balthazar!" Gabriel exclaimed, and the tone made chills run down Misha's spine for some reason. "I was just thinking of you!" He said with a smile. Misha felt dawning comprehension settle in, and he leaned back into the pillows to watch.

"...Yeah?" Balthazar asked nervously, backing up a little from the eager gold-eyed man.

Haha. Smart little doctor.

"I was wondering if you had any plans today..." The mischievous little doctor started. "...Frankly, for the next week."

Balthazar's face paled a little. Gabriel must have pulled rank like this before.

"No sir." He said after a second, tone contrasting to the bored voice he'd used moments ago.

Gabriel smiled, hopping a little in place. "Good!" He said, clapping a hand on the blonde man's shoulder. "I've got a job for you. A very very special job."

He took Balthazar by that same shoulder and led him out into the hallway, speaking enthusiastically no doubt. Misha just smiled, feeling slightly sorry for the poor guy.

Gabriel returned from the corridor a few minutes, whistling cheerfully. "Now, how about some more trivia?"

* * *

He hated cats. Hated them with a passion. If the furball creatures suddenly contracted cancer and died spitting blood, Balthazar would be the one leading the celebration party he hated them so much.

They were smelly, itchy things that had no regard for personal space. On top of that, they always insisted on eating, which bothered Balthazar to no extent. Their food always consisted of pasty glop that Balthazar wouldn't even sneak into someone's lunch than hardly look at it.

How did he know so much about cats? Personal experience being forced to live around them, and the worst ten years of his life.

The only thing he hated more than cats right now (though he wasn't sure he just hated them more than everything) was Dr. Richards, that cocky little evil...

Nope. He caught himself there. You weren't allowed to insult your superiors, even in your head. He'd rather just knock the little twit over the head and leave him for dead, but hey.

You didn't always get what you wanted, as Balthazar was finding out.

Clutching the two keys Richards had tucked into his hand, he walked out of the hospital around sunset. All of his duties for the day had been taken care of, and his normal relaxation time was being taken up by two little mongrels and an oaf of a dog.

Topping his cat request, Richards had also told him to check up on his dog. His DOG! Like the man couldn't walk the six blocks to his house and check on the damn thing himself!

He was really getting tired of being an intern.

Driving to the address, he pulled the keys out of his pocket and surveyed the apartment with slight disdain.

* * *

_The power had gone out a few hours ago, but the only reason Dean cared was because of the water. He was so thirsty, like a desert had taken up residence in his throat and he could do nothing about it, but he sat still. John wouldn't let him leave the small front room of the apartment for anything, and Dean wasn't ready to try his patience._

_They'd moved here about a year ago, when the money got tight and the circles around Mary's eyes even darker. _

_He didn't think of her as 'Mom' anymore. Hell, he barely recognized her anymore. She wouldn't leave the bedroom, whether because of John or something else he didn't know. She didn't hug him and ask him how his day was, or make his lunch. She'd left him, in more ways than one, and Dean knew it was only a little while before she left both of them, and surrendered Dean to John._

_So, he sat ramrod straight against the small couch, barely twitching. He'd tried moving a couple days ago when this last had happened and John had known the second it happened. Dean had not clue how, but the second his foot his the carpet, that terrible voice echoed out._

_"Dean!" It said in warning, low and scary and Dean shuddered at the memories it brought._

_It wasn't his turn yet, though, and maybe that was the only thing he was grateful to Mary for._

* * *

Dean swam up to consciousness, ignoring the memories until they slid off him, disappearing to the point where he couldn't remember what they had been about, only that there was a sense of unease running through him.

He glanced at the side of the bed and found Sam curled up around him, long hair obscuring his face. His mouth was open slightly, pink and adorable, but Dean only glanced at it before sliding back into the side of Sam's chest, closing his eyes.

Sam was warm, and he didn't move a lot in the night, so that was already a plus in Dean's book. He felt a little bad for cataloging Sam when he saw the dried tear tracks on the other man's face, disappearing into his hair.

Sam had had it almost as bad as him, Dean thought. What he'd been through, at the hands of his own family...

Well, Dean could relate.

He ran his finger up Sam's cheek, trying to comfort the sleeping man. There was a thing crease between his eyes, like he was uncomfortable even in sleep, and Dean wanted to make it go away.

Sam's eyes began to move faster under his eyelids, and he woke up slowly, hazel eyes bright but sleep-dulled under long lashes.

"Morning." Dean said softly, hardly louder than a breath. Sam smiled slightly.

"Morning." He replied, not moving. He just stared at Dean, both of them luxuriating in the fact that almost all of the things that needed to be talked about had been last night.

Almost all of them.

Dean pressed their foreheads together, lips ghosting over Sam's as he kissed him softly, slowly, like they had nothing to wait for.

Sam was pliant against him, but he felt his hands move up Dean's back, careful not to touch the bruises yesterday's ordeal had left behind.

"Dean." Sam murmured against his lips, not needing to continue or add on anything, just saying his name for the sake of it.

Dean pressed his lips a little harder against Sam's, kissing him a little faster as the emotion poured through him.

_I am not ready to tell him..._ Dean thought. _How can I tell him now?_ He wondered, kisses growing more frantic as he tried to calm himself down and failed. He needed Sam, needed him like air, because otherwise he'd fall down to that place John had put him, the place where guilt ruled and there was nothing but blood and sweat.

"Dean, you're going to hurt yourself." Sam said finally, tearing away reluctantly. Dean looked down to realize he was hurting himself, curling around Sam like the teddy bear he'd never really appreciated until it was gone.

That was a depressing thought.

"I'm sorry." Dean said, moving back from Sam, but the other man grabbed his head gently, bringing him back down.

"No, it's okay." Sam said when they parted for a breath. "Just..what's wrong?" He asked quietly, eyes sincere. "You're not usually..like this."

Dean turned away, shameful. How Sam must see him now, like some slut looking for comfort in sex...God. It was terrible.

Sam must have seen the guilty expression fly across his face, because he grabbed Dean's jaw gently and turned him towards him.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Dean." Sam said. "Please, just tell me what's wrong."

He couldn't hold up to those puppy-dog eyes for long, but Dean knew the whole story would have to wait a while.

"It's just, bad memories or something." He said after a second. "I guess I just didn't sleep well."

Sam blushed shamefully, and Dean didn't get it for a second. "I'm sorry." The floppy haired man said, still holding Dean.

"Sorry?" Dean asked honestly surprised. "What's there to be sorry for?"

"I...me...my story, making you sleep here all uncomfortable." Sam said.

"It was fine." Dean said reassuringly. "I just get like this sometimes. It'll pass, don't worry." He said, tone turning bitter. He saw Sam flinch at that and felt a pang of guilt.

"Let's get up and moving." Sam said after glancing at the clock on the table, releasing Dean almost reluctantly, not responding to his sardonic self put-down. "We've got a lot of miles to cover."

Dean stood up, stretching as Sam ran over to their backpacks. "Where are we going?" He asked, trying to clear the emotion out of his body like the yoga instructor on television once said to.

"Cabin in the woods." Sam said as he grabbed the towel, jumping into the shower and slamming the bathroom door behind him quickly.

"Hey!" Dean called. "I wanted first!"

"You had one last night!" Sam called back, sounding a little guilty, like he hadn't realized Dean might have wanted one first.

He also realized Sam might not have slept well either.

There was a bottle of Advil on the table that hadn't been there when Dean had fallen asleep, but he didn't remember Sam getting up. He could take a couple, sure, but he was already on the other Tylenol stuff, and a bad feeling wasn't exactly curable by Ibuprofen.

Trying to lighten the mood, he smirked to himself in the mirror and teased Sam, who he knew was probably soaping up that ridiculous amount of hair right about now.

"You got room for two in there, or are you too goddamned tall?" He asked Sam, and the answering chuckle was the only medicine he needed to feel a little bit better. He'd keep going.

* * *

A/N Yes, I know! Short update. I promise all of you Dean's story on Friday, feel free to hunt me down if I don't get it up.


	19. Chapter 19

The second the house came into view, Dean felt a pang of disappointment. From what he could see, it was a small two-story structure that looked older than his grandmother. Red paint, or what was left of it, was peeling off the weathered wood in chips, and overall everything just looked really shabby.

Dean really wasn't one to criticize a bad home, he'd lived in an apartment for a while now; he knew messy like the back of his hand, but from the way Sam had described the place, he'd kind of been expecting more.

After taking the last unmarked country road that turned off some other unmarked country road, they'd finally gotten to the small gravel driveway of the place, coming to a stop right next to the shabby-looking porch.

"I love what you've done with the place." Dean said snarkily, defaulting to sarcasm when he glanced over to Sam, who looked like a child in a candy store.

"I forgot how awesome this place is." Sam breathed excitedly, turning off the ignition and clambering out of the car quickly. Dean cursed and threw his own seatbelt off, trying to catch up with the giant man.

"Sam! Wait up!" He said, getting a little nervous as Sam ran up the porch steps, not liking the way the wood looked structurally. If Sam got his foot caught or something worse, they'd be in a whole world of disaster.

Sam just smiled back at him like he'd sensed his worry, tapping his foot firmly against the porch.

"Don't worry." He said, like that would make Dean feel better. "It's only meant to look this way."

Dean cautiously tested out one of the stairs, deciding he'd proceed. The wood didn't creak under him, and when he looked down, he realized it was made out of some high quality plastic/rebar mix.

"Holy shit." He murmured to himself, rubbing a finger along the plank right next to his foot. Even the paint job was immaculately done; the red paint was smeared perfectly to look like it had simply peeled away with age.

"This is just a cabin in the woods?" He said to Sam, who was leaning over something Dean couldn't see. The shaggy head didn't turn, but he heard Sam chuckle.

"Got any other secrets about this place I should know?" He asked only semi-jokingly. Sam didn't respond, but made an "aha!" sound as something clicked where his hands had been, and a hidden door opened.

The front door, where Dean had been expecting them to enter, was covered by the heavy metal door that slid out of the side of the porch, making Dean's eyes go wide.

"Holy crap." Dean said in flat out astonishment, stepping forward to see Sam waving at him from the doorway.

"C'mon!" He said from the inside of a modern home, complete with what he could see were several different rooms. Stepping into the doorway, he tried not to flinch as the door whirred behind him, clicking shut after a few seconds.

"And you said this was your friend's cabin?" Dean asked the other man curiously, following him into a large living room that connected with the kitchen. "What does he do for a living again?"

Sam smiled at him. "He's a security expert. Got this place renovated a couple years ago because he's a paranoid bastard, but hey." He said, stepping forward and knocking the door behind Dean. "Safest place I can think of."

Dean nodded at that. "Smart. Though I think the secret door was a tad overdone."

Sam laughed a little, showing none of the depression of the past few days. "Just you wait. The normal door upstairs actually leads to a real house and everything."

Dean paced around the front room, looking curiously into the adjoining rooms. There was a training room a few halls down, complete with mats and weights. Two bedrooms and a bathroom lined the other side of the hall, along with a large locked door.

"What's this?" Dean asked, tapping the lock on the door.

"Weapons." Sam said. "I think I know where the key is. From what I remember, it had everything in it. Guns, bows, knives. Maybe even a throwing star."

Damn. Dean whistled softly, imagining how large the room must be. "So you've been here before?"

Sam nodded, looking at the lock still. "Before we got back on our feet after, ah, after Ava." He said simply. "I trained here for a while."

There was an awkward pause, and Dean smacked himself internally for bringing something bad up. Shifting a little on his feet, he brought up his usual tension-diffusing skills, which mainly included sarcasm and jokes.

"So, it has everything we'll need?" He asked, looking at Sam wide-eyed.

The other man frowned at him. "Yeah, why?"

Dean nodded. "So we don't need the stuff from the trunk then?" He asked, cracking a smile as Sam cursed.

"Now I have to open the door again." He said irritably, walking towards where they came in.

"You can't, just; I dunno, press a button?" Dean asked unhelpfully, following.

"Nope. Thirty six digit pass code." Sam said, bending over a small keypad Dean hadn't noticed before.

"Thirty six?" Dean exclaimed. "Remind me not to leave your tampons in the car."

The whack upside the head was totally worth it.

* * *

Once Sam had cooked dinner (burnt pasta, guess he wasn't good at everything) they retired to the couch, arms around each other.

Dean was too tired to really think of anything that needed to be done, and the bedroom a few feet away had a bed that was screaming his name.

After a few minutes of just dumbly staring at the blank television neither of them had the strength to turn on, Dean dragged himself to his feet.

"Alright. Bed time." He told the other man, who looked at him dazedly. Who knew driving all day could be so exhausting?

"Mhpmmmm." Sam said, rolling onto his stomach to try and get up, but ended up just laying there face down.

"C'mon man, I'm not dragging your ass to bed." Dean said truthfully. "You really wanna sleep on the couch?"

Sam must have seen the sense in his words because he pushed himself up, face screwed up like a little child's. they both staggered to the bedroom, collapsing on the bed before Dean could remember that sleep hadn't been agreeing with him the last few days.

* * *

_Dean, being as exhausted as he was, didn't dream for the first half of the night. Everything was gray and fuzzy when the dreams finally did approach, and he traveled through them with faint exhaustion, knowing too many nights like the last few would've taken their toll already. Even his dream self could feel it, and they both dreaded the face that was bound to show up._

_After waiting for what seemed like forever, he finally stopped feeling tense. Maybe John wouldn't show up tonight-maybe he'd actually get sleep for once. A small part of him prayed, knowing it probably wasn't true but ready to make any deal to have dreamless sleep so he could feel well again. He'd have laughed off sleep-deprivation in college, but when it came down to it, it was almost the worst torture Dean could imagine._

_The landscape shifted, and suddenly he was in one of the fields surrounding their safe house, closed in by the tall trees. The sky was gray, somehow sharp and enthralling yet dismissive at the same time. The wind whipped his clothes around him, and he closed his eyes at what was to come, dreading those eyes._

_He opened his eyes, choking when he saw a familiar face in front of him, hazel eyes and high cheekbones, staring at him like john always did, oh please no, no no no…_

_"Dean." Sam said in a grotesque way of welcoming. "I guess you know why we're out here." He said, twisting his lips into a cruel smile. He'd never heard Sam sound like that, so cold and assured, arrogant even._

_Dean almost wished John were here. He'd prefer memories to this terrible trick his subconscious was playing on him. Sam stood there, face peaceful and cold as he stared Dean down. Dean shifted, trying to look away, but the dream wouldn't let him, pushed him a little to know he couldn't change the course._

_"So, there are a lot of things I could ask." Sam said. "I mean, I've been truthful with you, right?" He asked, walking forward ever so slightly. "Told you my whole life story, the full horror." He said bitterly, smile like silver as it lanced through Dean. "So I'm a little upset that you've been keeping things from me." He told Dean, chuckling a little._

_"I kept secrets too, though." Not-Sam said when Dean didn't reply. "Guess that makes me a hypocrite, huh?"_

_Dean pushed his lips together, hoping the dream would just end soon. Sam looked too righteous, too assured and it made Dean's stomach turn because it was exactly like John, like they he thought he knew everything and you knew none of it…_

_"So, I've got one word for you, Dean." Sam said, voice resonating through him._

_"What's that?" Dean croaked out after a second, knowing it'd been a while since he'd responded to the dreams._

_Sam raised an eyebrow at his response, but leaned forward and got so close to Dean's face he could count the eyelashes on the other man's eyes._

_"Why?" He asked, making puppy dog eyes with Sam's eyes, wide green things that stared out at him familiarly, like…_

_Blood ran down Sam's face, and Dean took a startled step back, barely making it a few feet before the dream caught him again. Dean felt tears of horror roll down his face, and tried not to scream as it made him look._

_Not-Sam's eyes slowly dulled, and he collapsed to his knees, blood still running down his face. He fell forwards then, eyes still open and god, so terrible. They stared straight at Dean, just like the dream in the car, and there was nothing he could do, just stare because it was his fault Sam was dead, but this wasn't Sam, how could this be real-_

He woke to the sensation of somebody shaking him lightly, enough to twinge his still-healing ribs. He opened his eyes quickly, jerking back when he saw a pair of moss-green eyes staring at him.

He hit the headboard behind him, groaning as pain flew through his head. Sam was shouting something, but he couldn't hear him very well, and everything was a little fuzzy.

After a few seconds, the words began to sink in.

"M'okay, just gimme a second." He told Sam, who was looking at him with a mixture of panic and confusion.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam said, looking so angry and so SAM that Dean breathed a sigh of relief before answering.

"Just a nightmare." He said, getting his own heart under control. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Sam looked at him like there was something else he should've said.

"What?" He asked dumbly after a second, massaging the back of his head absently.

"What was it about?" Sam asked angrily, looking wide-awake right next to him. "You were crying, man."

Dean reached a hand up to his face, finding wetness there. He looked at Sam, who was glaring at him.

"Can we just…go back to sleep?" Dean asked, hating to beg but knowing it couldn't happen like this, just when Sam had gotten his entire story out. He tried to pull puppy-dog eyes like Sam did, knowing it had only a slight chance of working.

To his surprise, Sam relented. "Fine." He said, laying down against the soft mattress.

To his increasing surprise, there were no jabs or threats about talking later, like Misha had done the first time Dean'd had a nightmare near him. A hand reached over his waist a second later, curling Dean into Sam's stomach, and together they drifted off.

* * *

The first few days at the cabin (if that was what you could call it) were spent with Dean recuperating. On the fourth day, he'd been almost back to perfect, but the few days in between had been slow and slightly painful as his ribs and the back of his head healed.

Sam didn't bring up the first night at breakfast the first morning, almost like he'd forgotten it, really, but Dean saw him glance at the back of his head worriedly. Sam was letting him take it at his own pace, though, and for that he was grateful.

On the fifth day, Sam came back from his workout in the training room with a thoughtful expression on his face. Dean instantly tensed, wondering if Sam was going to want to talk now all of a sudden. Instead, he told Dean another idea.

"Training." Dean said.

"Yeah. Just so you can get back on your feet a little better, you know?"

Dean looked at him in disbelief. "I don't know the first thing about fighting people!" He cried. "I'm not Jet Lee like you!"

Sam made a calm-down gesture with his hands. "I'm not saying you have to learn all the world has to offer on self defense. I'm just saying learn the basics."

"Like Ms. Congeniality?" Dean asked. "Do I get to hit you in the nose?"

Sam titled his head, not getting it. "Why would you do that?"

God. People these days.

"Nevermind." He said. "This training. Would it mean I'd have to learn how to use a gun?" He asked nervously.

Sam frowned a little. "I don't know yet. Let's just see where you're at with the real basic stuff, and we'll move up from there."

Great. Dean nodded unenthusiastically, unseen by Sam, who just looked excited.

* * *

"Again." Sam said, squaring his stance as Dean gritted his teeth.

Throwing a punch, Dean grunted as it landed solidly on Sam's open palm. He grinned a little in accomplishment, subverted by Sam's monosyllabic "Again."

Throwing another one, he had to dart quicker to hit Sam's open hand, which was moving across his field of vision. He missed, clipping the side of the other man's palm.

"Damn." Sam hissed, but put a halt to their exercise instead of continuing. "Well, that's enough for now then. I've got a boo-boo."

Dean stared at him.

"What?" Sam said, clutching his hand protectively to his chest. "It hurts!"

"And my hands don't?" Dean asked sarcastically, wiping the sweat off his brow with his t shirt.

"You have good punching knuckles." Sam said absently, checking his watch. "Might even be a better fighter than me one day."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked, staring down at his knuckles. They didn't look weird to him.

Sam just smirked, heading for the other side of the long mat. "Nothing."

Dean made a small noise of annoyance in the back of his throat. Drill sergeant Sam was only one step up from three-year-old Sam, and they were both pretty annoying.

Sam's back was turned, and Dean felt kind of amazing, so he ran forward and tried to tackle him, delighting in the little noise his socked feet made on the mats.

He hit the man solidly on the back, clinging onto his shoulders as the other man grunted in surprise.

"Dean?" Sam asked, trying to shake him off. "This isn't gonna end well." He said humorously. "You're gonna be on your ass in about ten seconds."

Dean clutched his shoulders even tighter. "Oh, Sam." He said into the other man's hair. "Always making threats."

Sam took the bait, twirling Dean around gracefully until suddenly Dean was in Sam's arms, laid gently (but firmly) on the floor.

"Oh come on!" Sam said, head looming above him. "That was a little too easy."

"I'm not on my ass yet." Dean breathed, eyes locked with Sam's.

He saw the instant Sam's pupils dilated, and grinned a little at what that meant. It'd been a while since he'd gotten laid….actually, the last time was with Sam.

Besides, floor sex? Was hot.

Sam leaned forward, kissing Dean firmly, until Dean could feel it down to his toes, and he wrapped his hands around Sam's head, curling them there.

"Nuh uh." Sam growled when Dean put his hands there. He grabbed them in his own, placing them above Dean's head in a gentle lock. He kissed him again, moving against his body.

Dean felt the heat drop out of him, breathing increasing for reasons they shouldn't have. He couldn't freak out here; he'd asked for it.

Sam was still devouring his mouth, and that was hot, but the hands on his wrists felt tighter than the actually were, and Sam was suffocating him, or at least it felt like it.

Unprompted, his brain flashed back to the last time he was held down like this, and he flinched slightly against Sam. The other man didn't stop, but Dean couldn't move, like his body had forced him to freeze like all those times before. He was mute, he was clay, foldable, and he wasn't in control.

"Dean?" Sam asked, breaking apart from Dean. God, his mind shouldn't even go there, seeing Sam's swollen lips and fevered eyes. He was gorgeous, but Dean couldn't, even with his own betraying arousal.

Dean didn't say anything, turning his head to the side in shame. He felt a tear run down the side of his face and tried not to let Sam see it, but he Sam spoke up.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asked, worried green eyes completely unthreatening.

"Sam." Dean gasped. "I'm sorry, just." He swallowed, willing his voice back. "Please let me go. Just let me go, please." He said desperately, twisting a little in Sam's hold.

Sam's eyes widened as he looked from Dean to his hands, still encircling Dean's wrists above their heads. He flinched away from Dean, releasing his wrists and backing up quickly.

"Oh my God, Dean, I'm so sorry." Sam gasped out, but Dean just laid his head back on the mat, tears rolling silently down his temples.

"I'm okay." Dean said after a second, throat convulsing around the lie. "Just give me a second."

"You are NOT okay." Sam said, still a couple feet away. "God, Dean, I'm so sorry." Sam apologized again. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Dean willed himself to be strong, pushing himself up until he sat upright. "I just don't like being held down."

"So we're not going to talk about it?" Sam asked as Dean stood up.

"Talk about what?"

"About what's been bothering you lately!" Sam said angrily, looking worried and guilty and Dean felt like the worst person on earth.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked calmly.

"The nightmares!" Sam shouted. "You're falling apart, Dean!" He looked flushed, but all Dean could do was stare and wait.

He grabbed his shoulder, trying to get Dean to say something, but Dean flinched away, hissing a little.

"Don't touch me." He said coldly.

Sam flinched again, bringing his hand back to his chest. He looked like he was about to apologize again, but Dean grabbed his water bottle and headed towards the door.

"Dean, I-" Sam started to say.

"Forget it." Dean said as he walked out, ripping himself apart as he said it, but not bringing himself to care.

* * *

Dean was in their room, toweling off after a long shower. Putting some jeans and a t shirt on, he stared at himself in the mirror.

It wasn't like he was looks-obsessed, but sometimes staring at yourself in the mirror was reassuring. At least, it had used to be, but now Dean could barely meet his own eyes.

God, what Sam must think of him. He was terrible.

He startled as the door opened, even though he knew Sam was there. Not turning around, he gazed at Sam through the mirror.

"I'm sorry." He said simply, feeling less dirty now that he'd taken a shower (you can't wipe that stuff off, little boy). Sam looked understanding, sitting on the bed behind Dean.

Dean stared at him for a few seconds longer, recognizing that Sam's reticence meant he was supposed to speak.

"You ever been to Kansas?" Dean asked rhetorically, feeling a little cheesy and very stupid. Sam looked on impassively, letting him continue.

"Well, it's a swell place, anyways." Dean said only slightly bitterly. "I grew up there."

He saw Sam's eyebrows rise in the mirror, but he continued.

"Me, m'Dad, Mom and I," He swallowed. "We all lived there while I grew up. Dad was an active marine, so he wasn't around a lot, but when he was we were perfect, you know?"

He supposed Sam didn't really know, but that was beside the point.

"Around the time I turned thirteen, ah, Dad got injured." Dean said. "They had to amputate his leg." He got out, sighing a little at the memory.

Sam looked on, listening. He could see the comprehension dawning on his face, and Dean rushed to intersect it.

"It didn't start out immediately!" He said sharply, looking down at his hands instead of the mirror. "It wasn't like that!" He said when Sam snorted slightly, not sure why he was defending the man.

"My Mom, she was awesome." He said, starting differently. "She loved my Dad a lot too, and when the Doc said the insurance wouldn't cover the pain meds, she helped every way she could.

"After a while, even she ran out of options. He started drinking, and the rest is history."

Sam glared at him in the mirror, and Dean relented.

Continuing, he steeled himself.

"He got angry sometimes, and God this sounds stupid and clichéd, but that was how it started. Small fights with Mom, getting smashed and passing out on the couch. She tried to help him, and I did too, but I didn't really recognize what was really happening until later." He swallowed. "When it was my turn."

Sam looked sympathetic, but his eyes never wavered from Dean's.

He tried to start, standing in front of this mirror, but he'd lost it. He couldn't do this anymore, pour out his whole shitty life story in front of some mirror in some goddamn house-

Sam got up, wrapping a hand around his waist lightly, and Dean relaxed back into it. He steeled himself again, knowing he had to get it out or he'd never face it.

"She left when I was sixteen, and never looked back." He said hoarsely. "I don't know if it was because she didn't want me or if she just couldn't be near my Dad anymore. I still don't really know.

"And she left ME behind. Without telling me how bad it was, how bad it could get." He said brokenly. Sam pressed his head to Deans, watching him in the mirror.

"He couldn't move very well with the gimp leg, but he sure remembered everything from the marines." Dean said bitterly. "The first time it happened, he got my be surprise in the kitchen. I thought he was drunk off his ass again, but it happened another time next week, then every week.

"Eventually, we went to the bedroom, and he did…stuff."

At Sam's questioning gaze, he sighed.

"I didn't know what is was then. But it hurt, it hurt so bad, Sam. I remember being bloody on the bed afterwards, covered in him, and you know what he told me?" He snorted bitterly.

"Good Boy."

Sam closed his eyes briefly, but opened them again. Dean watched him watching him, begging himself not to cry.

"One day, I'd had enough. Sorta like you, I guess." He told Sam after a second, gesturing towards him. "He went for me and I socked him, right in the nose." At Sam's small smile, he shuddered a little bit.

"I didn't mean to do it, I swear." Dean said pleadingly. "He fell backwards, and his head just sort of…" He trailed off. "Bounced." He said, gesturing weakly. Sam looked sympathetically at him, still silent.

Dean took a breath, begging himself to stay together. He'd coached Sam through his own story, he could definitely do his own.

"And now I'm here." Dean said, turning into Sam's arms. The other man's arms tightened around him, and he wordlessly guided them towards the bed. Laying down, Dean was hit with the déjà vu of the last time they'd comforted each other in bed, roles reversed.

"So yeah." He murmured against Sam's chest, but the emotions were still rolling around in him.

Wasn't talking about your life supposed to make you feel better?

He fidgeted, and Sam must have noticed, because he rolled Dean over, hovering above him like before.

"Sam…" Dean said, clenching his fists. "I…" He grabbed Sam's neck, trying to bring him down.

Sam wouldn't budge. "Dean, you don't want this…" He told him softly.

"Please, Sam." Dean begged him, and pulled Sam down in his arms.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N Long day! There's another chapter up for the other wincest AU I started. Here's a long chap for your troubles. I'm sorry I haven't been writing for JNSQ as much... the plot will reveal itself soon, I promise.

* * *

Bandages were itchy. Gabriel was quick about checking his stitches, though so Misha couldn't complain.

It'd been two weeks since the car crash and everything was still a little surreal. Misha hadn't been to his house in what seemed like forever. He wasn't even sure if his house plants were still alive.

More surreal was the absence of Dean, which had struck Misha hard the last few nights. His friend was on the run somewhere, running from the very people who had put Misha in the hospital. His older brother instincts were clashing terribly with his injuries, leaving him tense and achy in his bed at night.

Gabriel seemed to have noticed this, but neither man mentioned it. After trivia, he'd brought in dominoes, a game Misha was surprised to say he'd never played. The two of them clocked in hours together, playing and pretending neither of them were worried about the most important person in their life.

Sam had sent a quick text to Gabriel after he'd presumably found Dean, but it held no meaning to Misha. He supposed it could've been French, but from the second Gabriel's face lit up when he saw it, he guessed it was a code for something.

Today's game was a slow moving chess tournament that Misha couldn't even pretend he had a chance of winning. Gabriel was perched on his usual chair, eyes uncharacteristically soft as he tuned into the game, planning future moves.

Misha could admit he'd been staring at the doctor for longer than usual the last few days, but he chalked it up to cabin fever and general liking of Gabriel. Once you got past the cold professional front, he was actually a lot like Misha. Humor danced in his eyes when he won the last game, standing up and doing a ridiculous dance.

"Again!" Misha said irritably, trying not to peek a the board. He was curious how Gabriel had pulled off that last move, but he still had his dignity.

"That was the third one." Gabriel said. "Give my magically awesome brain a few minutes to relax."

"Magically awesome?" Misha snorted. "Do you even hear the words that come out of your mouth sometimes?"

Gabriel frowned at him, pointing a finger in Misha's general direction. "You," he said. "Are pouty. Why's that?"

Misha shifted a little under the gold stare aimed in his direction. Gabriel had checked his injuries the hour before, and everything was healing fine, but Misha felt like Gabriel was waiting for him to freak out or have a breakdown sometimes. The other man looked concerned, though, so Misha pouted real big and started whining.

"It's just, it's so hard to beat you." He told the other man. "You're so awesome, and smart and all..." He trailed off. "I guess I just never thought I'd get beaten by someone shorter than me."

A smack on his (uninjured) shoulder quickly followed the remark, but Misha couldn't hold back the smile as Gabriel stood up a little taller.

"Oh, and you're so tall yourself, big boy?" Gabriel asked in a low voice, leaning forward threateningly.

"Taller than you." Misha replied, leaning forward to stare at Gabriel. "I think you secretly love it."

He thought he saw a quick blush in Gabriel's cheeks, but the doctor turned away before he could tell. Gabriel came up to the side of Misha's bed, eyebrow quirked.

"That so?" He asked, inches from Misha's face. Misha could feel the man's breath across his face, and his heart began to beat faster.

"I don't know." Gabriel said. "I think I need more stability."

Misha paused, lips inches from Gabriel's. "Stability?"

The doctor nodded. "Can't date a guy who doesn't even remember their cats." He said seriously.

"Hey!" Misha exclaimed. "They're Dean's!"

"Honey, I don't care whose cats they are." Gabriel said, leaning forward and locking their lips together in one smooth motion, and Misha groaned at the sensation, pulling the other man closer-

The door to his room slammed open with the best timing ever, and Misha was about to scream at whoever it was when his brain began to understand the scene in front of him.

"Balthazar?" Gabriel asked in shock, lips still against Misha's. The other doctor was barely upright, blood staining his shoulder. He was shoving off an agitated nurse, fighting his way towards Gabriel.

"Balthazar?!"Gabriel cried out again as he ran towards the blonde man nearly collapsed, placing a hand around his waist. "Talk to me."

The nurse started looking serious, ordering Gabriel to release Balthazar. "Sir you need medical-" Balthazar cut her off, waving a hand at her to shush. Misha almost let out a terribly timed snort at the man's impudence.

"Gabriel." Balthazar said. "There's someone at your house."

"They did this to you?" Gabriel asked, eyes wide. Balthazar nodded.

"How'd you escape?" Gabriel questioned in disbelief, eyes darting across the room like he was already planning something out.

"I have my own secrets." Balthazar said, leaning against Gabriel as the doctor took off his jacket, placing it against the man's shoulder as a makeshift compress. He dug his hand weakly into his pocket to show a gleaming knife covered in blood.

"You stabbed someone?" Misha asked the blonde doctor in surprise.

"What can I say?" Balthazar said weakly. "I'm...tricky."

Gabriel seemed to snap to attention then, placing both hands on the compress. "Somebody get a gurney!" He shouted into the hall, making the nurses scurry.

"What did they look like?" Gabriel asked Balthazar. "Blonde, spoke french, had guns?" He said, gesturing at Balthazar's shoulder wound.

The other man's eyes widened. "How did you know that?" Balthazar asked weakly, face pale.

"I heard your name and came running, didn't understand anything else." He explained. "They tried to stop me...that's how I got this.." He said, trying to point to his shoulder. "Stabbed one of the fuckers in the arm and got out." The doctor seemed to remember something suddenly, turning so Gabriel could see him clearly. "I think they were looking for you."

Gabriel's face looked grim, opening his mouth to reply when a team of doctors barreled into the room with a gurney, loading the other man onto it while someone took over the compress from Gabriel.

Balthazar looked terribly pale against the white gurney, disappearing around the corner as Gabriel paced the room, shirt covered in blood.

"We gotta leave." Misha stated, struggling to get up from the bed. "Do you have any spare clothes?"

Gabriel nodded, reaching into the closet next to the bathroom. Inside were two backpacks and a small case. He closed the door to their room and handed Misha a pair of clothes from one of the bags.

"Get dressed quickly." Gabriel said, taking off his own shirt to put on a clean black one. Jeans replaced scrubs quickly, and Gabriel put a dark cap on a second later. Misha could only stare dumbstruck for a few seconds before Gabriel noticed.

"We gotta go, you said it yourself." The doctor said. "They probably followed Balthazar here, damn it."

"You knew we were gonna leave?" Misha asked Gabriel, throwing the jeans on a quickly as he could with his side and shoulder twinging.

"I knew there was a chance we would have to." Gabriel replied, putting a cap on the side of the bed next to the clothes.

"Shoes?" Misha asked. A pair appeared from the bag a second later, and Misha struggled to get them on, remembering he only had one workable shoulder.

"Help?" He asked a little sheepishly. Gabriel bent down quickly, tying the laces expertly. He handed Misha the now lighter pack, grabbing the other and opening the door to check the hallway.

The doctor leaned back, gesturing for Misha to get out of the room. He followed, grabbing the small case and closing the door. Misha walked down the hallway slower than he would've liked, body weak after spending two weeks in bed.

Gabriel's hand was at his back when they reached the stairs, guiding him down the flights. The parking lot was full and confusing when they got there, but Gabriel had keys in his hand that made one of the black cars honk.

They got in quickly, throwing the packs in the backseat. Misha sat in the passenger seat, secretly thankful for the rest the seat provided. The other man quickly backed up, throwing them onto the road as Misha buckled.

"Where are we going?" Misha asked five minutes later.

"Safe house. Where Sam and Dean are."

"Won't that draw whoever's looking for us there?"

Gabriel looked worried. "Hopefully we lost them. The place we're going is harder to reach if you're not invited, anyways."

"We're really doing this." Misha stated.

"Yeah." Gabriel said. "It gets easier with practice, don't worry."

He pressed the pedal down, urging the car faster down the road until they reached the freeway ramp. Neither of them spoke.

* * *

Dean woke in Sam's arms again, but couldn't really bring himself to care about the time. No light reached their room considering it was a basement, and why was Dean suddenly referring to it as their room?

He twisted over a little bit to find Sam awake and staring at him, blinking cat-like eyes at him in welcome.

"Good morning." Dean told him, smiling a little as the other man wrapped his arms tighter around his waist. He pressed a kiss against Dean's neck, slowly running them down his back.

"Mhmm, morning." Sam said, raising his head back up, fluffy hair mussed. "I vote pancakes."

"Pancakes?" Dean asked confusedly.

"For breakfast." Sam clarified. "You're cooking."

"I can't cook." He told the other man.

Sam frowned at this. "You saw my dinner last night. Who's gonna make breakfast then?"

Dean sat up, stretching a little. Sam's chest was warm and he wasn't wearing a shirt, so he tucked himself back into his arms and sighed.

After about a minute of cuddling, Dean sighed. "I think I saw a box of cereal in the cupboards last night." He said, giving up.

"That'll do." Sam said, arms around his waist again. "I don't think I wanna get up, though."

"What time is it?" Dean asked. "Is it even morning?"

Sam checked his watch. "I think it's afternoon, actually. Yep, it's three."

"Three?" Dean asked in surprise. "I haven't slept this late in years."

Sam smiled at him, white teeth flashing. "You were so cuddly. I think you talked a couple times too." He said, looking amused.

Dean froze. "What did I say?" He asked, barely moving.

"Something about how much you loved me, I think." Sam said, leaning back. "You were all, 'Oh Dean, I love you so much, I'll cuddle all the time, I swear!'. I'm totally holding you to that, by the way." He said, pointing at him as Dean blushed, heart starting again.

"You're such a sap." He told the taller man, whose chuckles reverberated through Dean's chest.

"Eh, I don't see you complaining." Sam said, actually snuggling closer. "Wanna go back to sleep?"

Dean blinked. "That code for something?"

Sam waggled his eyebrows. "Do you want it to be?" He asked, placing a leg over Dean's.

Dean snorted. "Jesus, I'm sure that's worked before." He joked, but rolled over so Sam was on top of him.

"I vote we call this cuddling." Sam said as Dean rolled them, smile taunting.

"You're voting a lot lately, aren't you?"

* * *

Later that evening, a thought came to Dean as they were once again snuggling.

"Can we continue the training?" Dean asked when Sam tucked him under his arm.

"You want to?" Sam murmured against his head.

"I think so." Dean replied. "I don't..." He trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I don't want to be afraid anymore."

Sam closed his arms around him then, breathing slower. "Then we'll train you."

Dean frowned. "Really?"

Sam sighed sleepily, tucking his cold feet against Dean's calves.

"Anyway you want it, that's the way you need it..." He warbled off-key, making Dean laugh gently.

"Tomorrow." Dean said.

"Tomorrow." Sam agreed.

* * *

The training was too much to cover in one day and too little to cover in weeks. Sam settled for a quick crash course, telling Dean when someone had the time, he could train for years before he'd be truly ready. Dean just nodded and went with it, discovering Sam was a pretty patient and thoughtful teacher already.

They covered a lot of things, including distress signals (code words, much to the amusement of Dean) guns, close combat and more. Close combat was probably Dean's strongest point, surprising Sam a little.

"Higher on the jab." Sam said as Dean swung, missing again. "You're telegraphing."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Dean asked, swinging (and getting blocked by Sam) again.

"It means I know where you're going to hit before you do it." Sam said, not even breaking a sweat as he ducked again, the bastard. "Use some different angles. Try not to give it away."

Dean tried feinting to the left and then throwing a quick jab to Sam's right, groaning when Sam blocked it _again._

"No, that was good that time." He told Dean. "I've just been doing this longer. I wouldn't expect you to put me on the mat on your first official week of training."

Dean smirked. "I bet I could get you on the mat in thirty seconds if I wanted to." He told Sam assuredly, dancing on the balls of his feet.

"You think so, huh?" Sam asked, smiling at him.

Dean eyed Sam's lips ostentatiously, licking his own as he saw Sam's eyes follow his.

"Cheater." Sam huffed. "Moving on!"

"What?" Dean asked. "That didn't work?"

Sam answered with a smirk and another embarrassingly slowed down punch.

* * *

The day Sam got taken, Dean had finally mastered the coffee machine. Pouring coffee into a cup had never been a very amazing experience before, but the simple transfer caused the aroma to spike, and Dean nearly growled as the smell hit him.

He took a sip, delighting in the fact that hey, he had coffee. Sam snuck up behind him and grabbed the cup Dean poured for the taller man a second later.

"No training today." Sam said, taking a normal sip like a non-addicted person.

"Why not?" Dean asked, frowning. "Got someplace better to be?"

"Yeah, actually." Sam said, looking worried for a second. "We're getting low on groceries."

"So, let's go." Dean said, taking another sip of coffee.

"You can't go." Sam said. "They still might be out there, Dean." Sam said. "They're still looking for you."

"And what, you'll be less conspicuous?" Dean asked.

"I'm better trained." Sam said. "That's why."

"I don't like this." Dean said.

Sam sighed. "I didn't think you would. But we need stuff, and this is the safest place you can be. I'll take the gun, too."

"How far away is it?" Dean asked unhappily.

"Couple miles. I shouldn't be more than an hour. I don't make it back by twelve, you grab the phone in my bag and call the first number programmed, you hear?"

Dean nodded, feeling oddly like he was being talked down to. Grabbing Sam by the front of his shirt, he gave him a long kiss.

"Hurry back."

"I will. Just stay here, kay?" Sam said, throwing the keys into his pocket and stalking towards the secret door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean managed to get through the first half hour just taking a shower, relaxing as the hot spray hit his back. Training had been tough, and there were a lot of tight muscles in his shoulders. He cracked his back and shampooed his hair, sighing as Sam's face appeared in his mind.

When he was done with the shower, he dressed in sweatpants and a t shirt and vegetated in front of the television for twenty minutes. Deciding he was bored, and it was almost twelve, he waited in the kitchen near the door, expecting (and hoping for) Sam to walk through the door any time soon.

At 12, Dean got a little nervous, biting his fingernails. At 12:05, he calmed down, telling himself Sam had just got held up somewhere. When the clock his 12:15, his heart started thumping, and even nervous tapping couldn't keep his worry down.

At 12:30, he was about to climb out of his skin with worry, going to far as to even unlock the secret door (Sam had finally told him the combination, like he'd been expecting him to get locked in by accident) and walk out onto the porch to wait.

Standing next to the beam so he was hidden from the road, he waited. Sam's car finally made it over the hill, and the tension dropped so quickly out of Dean that he almost fell over.

He was so busy calming himself down that he didn't notice the car coming up behind Sam's until a few seconds later, and by then he was too late to warn Sam.

The large SUV quickly overtook the small black car, shuddering to a stop in front of Sam. Another SUV came up behind them, locking Sam in. Dean could see Sam running over his options from his hiding place, face low and dangerous.

He could see the disappointment on Sam's face as six armed men got out of the car, staying back cautiously. They seemed to know Sam was a force to be reckoned with.

Sam got out of the car as one of the men put his machine gun against the window, putting his hands up on his head and getting out of the car proudly. A tall blonde man got out of the SUV blocking the back of the car, looking snide and way too familiar for some reason.

Dean gasped as he recognized the man from Sam's first date with him. What was his name?

_Luke, _He saw Sam's lips shape. Luke looked excited, poking Sam and drawing a hand across his face. Dean felt the anger burn inside of him, but knew he had to stay hidden. Sam would want him safe.

Someone patted Sam down roughly, and Dean wanted to scream, but the expression on Sam's face stopped him.

The men shuffled Sam into the back of one of the cars, guns still pointed at his form. Dean glanced worriedly at his feet, hoping they were out of sight like the rest of his body.

They shut the door and drove off, like nothing had happened at all. Dean finally let out a cry as they disappeared around the hillside.

"Sam!"

* * *

Gabriel led him up the stairs to the ramshackle cabin, laughing at the third indignant cry Misha had let out.

"This is so not a safe house." Misha said. "I'd be safer sitting on a bench somewhere public. Seriously."

Gabriel opened his mouth to laugh, but stopped when he saw something on the ground in front of him. "Oh shit."

Running forward, he followed Gabriel down an open door on the side of the house down into some hidden basement. Gabriel looked anxiously around the rooms, running into a small closet.

"Dean?" He asked, reaching to someone in the darkness. Misha gasped as he saw his friend's face for the first time in weeks, covered in tears.

"They took him, Misha." Dean said hoarsely. "They took Sam."

* * *

A/N Review?


	21. Chapter 21

A/N Thank you for sticking with me. Next chap should be up on friday. Thanks to my beta who brings joy to my life, even when she's crying over Sherlock. Anyone else excited for tonight's new ep?

* * *

"Calm down, Dean." Misha said, kneeling and embracing his friend. Dean curled into him, staring up at Gabriel with wide eyes.

"We need to find him." He said hoarsely, and Gabriel nodded. Misha helped him to his feet, drawing him from the small closet over to a couch.

"Did you see who they were?" Gabriel questioned, eyes sharp and determined.

"It was just two SUVs." Dean said, looking pale. "They came up behind Sam's car and took him. Too many people, too many guns. I don't think they saw me." He babbled, trying to get it all out.

"Did you hear them say anything?" Gabriel asked, sitting down on the opposite couch.

Dean shook his head. "No."

Misha looked down at his hands, feeling useless as the two men grasped at straws. Gabriel himself looked ill, focusing on a man Misha knew he loved dearly.

Both men were silent, mulling over options that didn't really exist. Gabriel ended up looking resigned, Dean desperate.

Misha stood up, broadcasting determination and energy. "Come on."

Both men turned, confusion written on their faces. "What?"

"We have to start somewhere." Misha said. "Let's go down to the road and look around. Maybe, something will turn up."

Gabriel stood up, looking angry. Misha flinched, thinking he was angry with him, but tilted his head when Gabriel clenched his fists, cutting nails into his own palms.

"This is my fault." He said brokenly, turning to face Dean. "I have always been there for him. And now I've let Sam down."

"There's no way?" Dean asked. "No option?"

Gabriel closed his eyes, pain radiating off of him. "No." He whispered. "I'm sorry."

Misha protested, stepping forward. "We can-"

Gabriel cut him off. "You don't understand! I screwed up! We screwed up! Sam is-" He faltered, frowning as a noise echoed through the house.

It was very soft, but Gabriel tracked it effortlessly to the small keypad on the door. On it, a screen flashed the words _Incoming Aircraft_ over and over again. Gabriel stood, shocked for a second before breaking out into a smile.

"Yes! Sonuvabitch yes!" He shouted, grabbing Misha and Dean's hands. They looked up at him in confusion.

"What?" Dean asked as Gabriel led them to the porch. "What?!"

Gabriel pointed up, revealing a large helicopter landing a couple miles away.

"That."

* * *

Sam woke to find himself on the chair in the warehouse, arms handcuffed behind him tightly. He groaned, squinting as someone moved closer to him.

"Bitch." Adam greeted him, insult stinging like cold water.. "Nice to see you again." He said, glaring down at Sam in distaste.

He stood at the center of a large warehouse, floor and walls covered in dust. Large windows lined the left side, opening to a large parking lot.

Sam tried to move his hands, giving up when he felt the tight metal around his wrists. He groaned internally, praying Dean was safe. If Adam had take him...

"Are you even listening to me?" Adam asked, kicking Sam's chair as he walked up.

Sam didn't reply, shocked at the appearance of his little brother. Adam looked years older, obviously, but something else had changed. Sam frowned, trying to guess as his little brother stood rebelliously in front of him. Adan's blue eyes still shone, offsetting the sandy blonde hair he'd always lorded over Sam as kids. He was dressed in simple black, efficient but not Adam's usual style.

He was staring at Sam madly, eyes ferocious in their intensity. Sam felt a chill roll over him as he made contact with those eyes, skin crawling.

"Adam." Sam said after a second, voice cracking on the word. "Oh my god." He said, shock spilling out of him. He hasn't seen his brother in years.

Adam reached out an tapped the knot swelling on the side of Sam's head, making Sam flinch in pain. He took a step back, smiling when he saw Sam's reaction.

"Why'd you have to attack the guards?" Adam asked, jovial like they were simply sharing a casual conversation.

"They handcuffed me." Sam said, equally pleasant. He forced himself to focus as the pain made flashes of light flare behind his eyes. The throbbing sensation at the back of skull meant he had a concussion, which was bad.

"I was willing to go peacefully." He continued, staring Adam down.

Adam bit his lip. "You've never been peaceful." He said, pacing to the right of the chair. Sam watched Adam in confusion, waiting for the other man to continue.

"I really hate you, you know." Adam said casually, kicking Sam sharply on the side of the leg. Sam gritted his teeth, not giving Adam the pleasure of a response. "You can't imagine how happy this moment makes me." He told Sam savagely, voice twisted. Sam shuddered as his mind flashed back to the times he'd heard that voice before. Adam as a three year old, Adam learning English next to him. Adam singing (more like lisping) their anthem as a toddler.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, staring straight ahead, willing the memories away."That's great." He said sarcastically, bracing for another kick. He wouldn't let this get to him.

Adam didn't hit him, pacing behind the chair so Sam couldn't see what he was about to do. Sam felt his skin tingle as his brother stopped right behind him.

"All of it." Adam started, placing a hand on Sam's collarbone. "The palace, our parents. I was always second best, you know?" Adam asked, then chuckled at himself.

"Well, I suppose you would know." He said as an afterthought. "You were the golden boy, and for a while I was cool with that. You were who I looked up to. Who I wanted to _be_ like." He laughed again. "How funny is that?"

He stopped laughing after a second, chuckles dissipating into pained silence.

"And you were pretty much perfect, weren't you?" Adam asked smoothly, placing his other hand on Sam's opposite shoulder, leaning down. Sam sat still, not moving a muscle.

"I wasn't jealous." Adam admitted. "I wanted you to have those things." He said, emotion plain in his voice. "I was _happy_ when you grew up strong, when people began to whisper about you. Because that was _my_ brother. I was so goddamn proud."

He sighed, hands still on Sam's shoulders.

"And then, the worst thing happened." Adam said, softly, breath tickling Sam's neck. His hands began to move, running up Sam's shoulders until they encircled his throat lightly.

"I had to find out that my brother...my big brother..was a _fag_."" He said, last word a whispering shudder. "A dirty fag. A fucking gay."

Adam paused, taking in a breath.

"And I had to stop for a second outside of your door, because I couldn't believe it right away. MY brother. Acting like this was _good_ and fucking Jo, telling you she loved you." He began to squeeze Sam's neck lightly, hands right around Sam's throat. Sam kept his eyes forward, choking silently.

"You weren't Sam." Adam said madly, leaning in to whisper in Sam's ear. Lights flashed in front of Sam's eyes, and the pain in his head came to a crescendo.

"You took my brother away from me, you bastard!" Adam screamed suddenly in Sam's ear, releasing him to stand in front again. Sam's lungs burned, drawing in air quickly. He stared at the floor, ears ringing.

Adam looked even more crazed than before, standing in front of Sam with flushed cheeks. Sam noticed distantly that three men stood off to the side, too far away to recognize.

"And now," Adam said, kneeling in front of Sam. "I get to take you back. I get to put you back on your throne, _your highness_, and I get to split you open with the sharpest knife I can find. You get to die like the traitor and murderer you are in your own country, you bastard." He spat at Sam, each word digging in painfully.

Sam's heart nearly shattered. Tears burned the back of his eyes as Adam glared at him. His brother, just like Adam had said.

"You get to pay for taking Sam from me!" The other man shrieked, hands clenched as he screamed in Sam's face.

Sam's heart stopped, desperation and big-brother instincts rising up painfully. All he wanted to do, after all these years, was to run up and pull Adam into a hug.

_I'm here, little brother_ Sam wanted to whisper. _I'm here, don't cry_

"I'm right here!" He screamed back, throat painful. "I am still Sam!"

Adam's hand moved, slapping ferociously across the face. Vicious eyes stared him down when Sam recovered.

"Don't say that name." He said forcefully, closing his eyes like he was restraining himself. "You don't get to even THINK it." He growled, face flushed.

Sam closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself down.

"Adam." He said softly, working all the affection and big-brother power he could into it. "What are you doing? What do you think you're doing?" He pleaded gently. "I'm here, Adam. What are you doing, _frerot_?" He asked, using the french nickname.

"Something I should have done the second you took Sam." Adam replied, eyes glaring into his. His stare didn't waver, and Sam began to feel the hopelessness set in.

"I didn't take anyone!" He said, pleading in desperation. "Please, Adam. I'm right here."

Adam ignored him, walking in front of the chair like a caged lion. He raised an eyebrow as he seemed to consider something.

"That's why I had to kill your..your _whore_." Adam said. "To punish you."

"You didn't kill Dean." Sam replied. "You didn't come close. You won't ever."

"Don't be so sure." Adam hissed, leaning in suddenly. "I am in line for the crown now, I am above you."

Sam glared back, wondering if the Adam he knew was still in there at all. "You won't ever have the crown. Not while I'm still-" He cut himself off, realizing he'd set himself up.

"Alive?" Adam asked, smiling. "That'll change soon." With that, he spun on his heel, gesturing towards one of the men.

Sam stifled a gasp as Luke walked up, blue eyes sharp and emotionless as he eyed Sam before turning to Adam.

"Yes sir?"

"When will the chopper be here?" Adam asked in french, making Sam flinch at the familiarity. Luke seemed to notice, shooting Sam what almost looked like a sympathetic glance. Sam glared back, furious at the betrayal.

Screw Luke and his offered protections. He should have taken him out when he saw him during that first date.

"Ten minutes." Luke replied, voice charming as ever. "We just got a call from them."

"Good." Adam said, turning towards the windows. "That means we wait."

Sam closed his eyes, once again praying that Dean was okay. He knew it was stupid, but if Dean was okay, if that sweet, caring man who hid under a coat of gruffness was okay, Sam would gladly take Adam's knife.

It was a revelation that didn't concern Sam, oddly enough. He just knew it was what he would do. Because he loved Dean.

Was it possible to fall in love so quickly?

Apparently so.

"Thinking about your whore?" Adam asked, creepily accurate. "Don't worry. I'll hunt him down where you're dead."

That brought the boiling anger up in Sam, turning everything red. He opened his eyes, glaring at Adam.

"I said it before." He grit out. "You will _never _touch him. Never, hear me?" He growled at Adam, delighting in the small flash of fear he saw in his brother's eyes.

Adam leaned forward, facade back in place. "I can and I will." He said, running a hand up Sam's face. Sam spat, a glob of spit landing on Adam's cheek.

The other man looked furious, reaching a hand back to smack Sam as a shot rang out. Adam stumbled back, shoulder blossoming with red.

Gabriel, Misha and Dean stood there. Gabriel kept the gun raised, trained on Adam. He spoke, tone commanding and powerful.

"Get the hell away from him, you ungrateful sonuvabitch."

* * *

A/N Review? *makes really big puppy dog eyes because the last four review have been evil flames*


	22. Chapter 22

A/N So, I was planning on this being the last chapter, but a lot of things exploded the last three days, so it will be broken into little pieces. I plan on finishing the whole piece this week, and will have it posted accordingly. Thank you to all the reviewers. To my beta, I apologize for lying about this chapter going up on Friday. So, upon her request, I am revealing the truth: I am a meanie-face liar. That good, Angelical devil?:)

Also, don't forget to review! This chapter is angst-tastic and I get myself down:(

* * *

_"Thinking about your whore?" Adam asked, creepily accurate. "Don't worry. I'll hunt him down where you're dead."_

_That brought the boiling anger up in Sam, turning everything red. He opened his eyes, glaring at Adam._

_"I said it before." He grit out. "You will never touch him. Never, hear me?" He growled at Adam, delighting in the small flash of fear he saw in his brother's eyes._

_Adam leaned forward, facade back in place. "I can and I will." He said, running a hand up Sam's face. Sam spat, a glob of spit landing on Adam's cheek._

_The other man looked furious, reaching a hand back to smack Sam as a shot rang out. Adam stumbled back, shoulder blossoming with red._

_Gabriel, Misha and Dean stood there. Gabriel kept the gun raised, trained on Adam. He spoke, tone commanding and powerful._

_"Get the hell away from him, you ungrateful sonuvabitch."_

* * *

Adam put a hand to his shoulder, gently pressing a hand to the bloodstain. His hand moved, and before Gabriel could react a gun appeared, pointed towards Sam.

Sam was tied down to the chair with ropes around his legs and arms. On top of that, handcuffs kept his arms behind his back. Dean felt anger boil inside of him as he noticed the blood caking his lover's face. Bruises littered Sam, running down his neck to a red line Dean could only guess meant Sam had been choked.

The second the gun appeared in Adam's hands, something died in Dean. Sam, to his credit, didn't move. He didn't look at Dean, eyes on his brother.

"My God." Adam said, bitter smile cracking his face. "Gabriel?"

Gabriel looked grim, gun still trained on Adam. Misha stood off to the left, worried blue eyes large as he stood next to the blonde man.

"Adam." Gabriel said, word filled with so much hate and anger that even Dean took a double take. Gabriel looked furious, cold anger pouring out of the man in an intensity he hadn't even seen in Sam. He almost looked righteous, judging and ready to mete out justice with a precision Dean could feel.

"Still looking out for the bitch?" Adam asked, waving the hand not holding the gun at Sam. "Figures. You always had a soft spot for it."

Gabriel's eyes widened at the term. He glanced between Sam and Adam in confusion, eyes sharp.

"What the hell happened to you, Adam?" Gabriel asked, furious. "How the fuck did it come to this?"

Adam ignored the question, peering around Gabriel to see Dean. "And you brought friends. Who's this?" He asked pleasantly, like he was a party host.

"I'm the person you tried to kill, you son of a bitch." Dean spat at him, taking a step forward. Adam raised an eyebrow, hand twitching around his gun.

"Careful." Gabriel murmured, gun still sighted on Adam. Sam looked in warning at Dean, shaking his head.

"So you're the whore." Adam said, moving the gun so it rested against Sam's temple. "Glad we have the introduction-" he paused, polite confusion appearing in his face."Who's this?" He asked, pointing a hand at Misha. Adam's shoulder still weeped blood, but he seemed to pay no attention to it.

"None of your business." Gabriel said, taking a smooth step in front of Misha. Dean didn't doubt for a second the protection offered in that one move.

"Oh, so that's how it is, is it?" Adam questioned, frowning like a toddler getting a you taken away. "Fine. Ironic, though, how you ran off with the bitch only to become one to someone else, isn't it?" He asked Gabriel, taking a step so he was standing behind Sam, gun still pressed to the man's temple. The next words were spoken with self-conviction it made Dean shiver.

"I'll take you back too, then. Lay the two abominations together and execute you with the pain you deserve."

The threat hung in the air, and Dean waited for Gabriel to respond. Gabriel's lips pressed together in anger, but he didn't release the emotions Dean knew were churning in him. Surprisingly, Misha was the one who spoke up, blue eyes glittering with anger.

"Touch him and die, you fucking pig." He threatened, fists clenched. Adam raised his eyebrows at the threat, sharp burst of laughter bubbling out of him.

"Oh, I like him!" Adam said, eyes shining with dull humor.. "We need people like you, _bachgen_. If only you weren't..." He trailed off, shrugging.

"Well. You know what I mean."

Adam raised his other hand, checking the time. His face split into a smile as the sound of a chopper descending reached them, echoing in the large warehouse.

"Perfect." Adam said, reaching forward. Dean heard Gabriel's low gasp as Adam flicked the safety of his gun off, pressing the gun harder against Sam's head in warning as he bent behind Sam, undoing the handcuffs.

"Oops." Adam said. "In my opinion, safeties on guns are redundant anyway." He said, undoing the ropes one-handed.

Gabriel took a step forward, not having dropped the gun from Adam the whole time. "Fun's over." He said. "Drop the gun, Adam."

Gabriel took a warning step forward, pausing when Adam made a show of squeezing the gun.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Adam said, voice low. Gabriel looked conflicted, standing his ground as Sam finally spoke up.

"Gabriel, stand down." Sam ordered, voice emotionless. "Put the gun down."

Adam raised his eyebrows like this was a fine idea. "I'd do what the bitch says, _Pute_. Or I'll shoot you three first."

Gabriel's face twisted in anger at the threats, taking an unconscious step to the side to cover Misha and Dean better. He was about to take another step forward, only to be ordered back again by Sam.

"Stand the fuck down, Gabriel!" Sam shouted. "That's an order!"

Dean saw Gabriel's face go pale and knew the man had to obey. He got the impression Sam had never exercised his rank before, making the order even harder for Gabriel to accept. After a tense standoff, the gun finally dropped, and Gabriel knelt to put it on the floor.

"That's better." Adam sighed, lifting the gun so Sam stood. Dean felt a small sort of bitter amusement at the height difference between the two brothers, tucking it away as Adam turned to them.

"Well, time's up, like you mentioned. Go, before I change my mind about letting you go." He intoned, facial expressions twisting from happy to dangerous in seconds, and Dean realized he was truly staring at a mad man.

Sam finally met Dean's eyes, hazel filled with so many apologies Dean wanted to fling himself at Adam for making his lover hurt, for forcing this pain on all of them.

"I'm sorry." Sam mouthed, unseen by Adam. Dean felt tears well up in his eyes as Sam put his head down, finally accepting the fate Adam had forced on him.

Out of the window, Dean could see the guards getting on the helicopter, waving for Adam to hurry. Sam's brother kept the gun up, facing Gabriel one last time.

"I used to look up to you, too, you know." Adam said, tone almost normal. Gabriel's sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but Dean saw Misha flinch as pain flashed across the shorter man's face.

"You and Sam." Adam continued, the first time he'd used Sam's name. There was a pause.

"I guess you both disappointed me, then." Adam said, and for a second Dean could see the little brother in him, the lonely kid who didn't know what to do. Then the gun flashed, and Dean's anger overtook the sympathy.

"Goodbye." Adam said in farewell, walking with Sam over to the door. Dean felt Sam being taken from him, felt it in that cheesy little Disney Princess heart he kept hidden away under the layers of badass he tried to project. He couldn't take this. Not one more person leaving, not one more heart broken-

He ran forward, ignoring Misha and Gabriel's shouts. Sprinting, he closed the distance on Adam quickly. Sam's eyes widened, but he didn't move. Adam turned, gun flashing towards Dean-

A shot went off, flaring wildly as Sam leaped, moving the gun out of the way. Dean toppled Adam, knocking the gun far away as he drove a knee into Adam's stomach. Sam fell to the ground with a muffled cry, holding his wrist.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" He screamed at him, wrapping hands around the boy's neck. He squeezed, feeling a bit of terror when Adam grabbed his arm. Adam twisted his legs around Dean, pulling a complicated maneuver that put Dean on the ground underneath him suddenly, positions reversed.

He began to squeeze Dean's neck, hands liked iron bands around his throat. Dean gaped, trying to draw in air. Spots began to dance in front of his eyes, making his head buzz. Everything was about to go white when two loud shots rang out.

Adam fell to the side of Dean, bloody holes appearing in his chest. Dean drew in air quickly, blessed oxygen making his throat burn as he welcomed it. He sat up, seeing Sam and Gabriel both holding a gun.

Gabriel looked grim, gun down against his side. Sam still held his up, like he though Adam would leap up from the dead. Misha stood behind Gabriel still, blue eyes wide as he gazed at Adam's body.

The young man almost looked peaceful, blue eyes closed finally as he lay on the floor. Dean felt the event catch up to him, building up until his mind realized it was over. It was _over_.

Dean stood, walking over to Gabriel. Misha was already there, prying the gun out of the man's hand as he stood, staring at the body of the child Dean realized he must have considered a son. He looked shell-shocked, gold eyes a little dull. Misha put an arm around him, placing the gun on the floor.

Dean turned to Sam, finding his back turned to him. He frowned, walking up to the taller man.

"Sam?" He asked, confused. Sam didn't move, barely responding to the hand Dean placed on his shoulder.

He said Sam's name again, worry growing. "Sam?"

Dean turned to stand in front of him, turning Sam with his hand. He received a small hiss from the taller man, and something wet touched his hand.

Looking down, it took him a few seconds to realize what was on his hands. The shock ran through him like ice, draining every last bit of relief from his body as he looked from his blood-stained hand to Sam's shirt.

Red painted the man's shirt, blood already seeping through the fabric. Dean had never seen this much blood before, not even after his worst beating. Sam's shirt was covered in it, dark red slick under Dean's frantic hands.

Sam's face was pale when Dean finally managed to look up. Blood leaked from the side of his mouth, and Dean could barely understand how Sam was still awake, much less standing. After a second, hazel eyes closed as Sam fell to his knees, small noise of pain muffled by the blood in his mouth.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, alerting Gabriel and Misha. He caught the taller man, pressing a hand over the bloodstain. Sam's head rested on his shoulder, lolling in a way that was too lifeless for Dean's taste

Misha and Gabriel ran over, confusion turning over to shock as they saw the red coating Dean's hands. Gabriel froze, standing still as he gazed down at Sam.

"Oh shit. Oh shit, shit shit." Dean heard Misha say. "Gabriel, he's shot!"

Gabriel had gone pale, eyes wide. Dean's desperation gave way to panic, impatient for the doctor to get himself together.

"Gabe!" He yelled at the doctor. "Fucking stay with me! What the hell do I do?"

Gabriel blinked, haziness leaving his eyes a little. He took a step forward, then stopped.

"Gabe!" Dean screamed again, pressing down on the wound. "Do something!"

The man finally snapped out of it, rushing forward and grabbing Sam from him. Laying him down, Gabriel took off his shirt, tearing it quickly. A compress was formed, and the doctor pressed it into Dean's hands.

Sam's eyes were still closed, face pinched in pain even in unconsciousness. Dean looked at his lover's battered body in despair, hating every bruise and cut. The compress seemed to be helping, but Sam still looked too pale. Dean looked at Gabriel, unsure of what to do.

"Push down as hard as you can and don't stop." Gabriel said to his questioning gaze, fumbling for something in his pocket. He gave a noise of frustration as his hands shook, trying to unroll the bandages he had in his pocket. "Dammit! Goddamn..." He broke off into French, hands still shaking.

Misha put his hands on top of Gabriel's, calming him."You can do this, Gabe." He murmured. "You're an amazing doctor. You can do this. Stabilize him."

Gabriel got a handle on himself, taking a breath and closing his eyes. When gold met Dean's gaze again, the panicked friend had turned into the icy doctor Dean knew well.

"Harder." Gabriel said, unrolling the bandages and placing them around Sam's torso. He dug in his pocket, tossing a cell phone to Misha.

"Call 911."

* * *

A/N Review?


	23. Chapter 23

A/N So, final chapter. Author's notes at the end ask about an epilogue. What do you guys think? Thanks to my beta who puts pressure on me to finish this when I should and not when I feel like it. Even if you're currently not responding to my texts, I love you! Thank you for the amazing ride and letting me bounce ideas off of you incessantly. To all of the reviewers and followers, thanks! You've been awesome! (Except for the flames, but meh. I heard on the grapevine her IP address got banned, so who's pissed now?:)

* * *

_"Gimme a one amp of epi!"_

"On it."

"Shit."

**"Sam."**

_"Another amp!"_

"He's going into cardiac failure!"

"Do something!"

_"Starting compressions!"_

"Oh god. Shit."

**"Sam?"**

_"Another amp! C'mon people!"_

"Pressure's dropping, sir."

_"Don't tell me that! Starting the IV."_

_"Move people!"_

"Crash cart's ready for us at Mercy, sir."

_"Sam?"_

"Oh fuck."

**"SAM!"**

* * *

The corridor was empty, save for the blonde man standing outside of one of the ICU rooms. He had his head up against the window, staring blankly into the room.

Misha put his arms around Gabriel, leaning in to press his his face into the man's shoulder.

"How is he?" He asked, glancing through the window. Dean sat next to Sam's bed, face worn. Tubes and machines took up most of the room, running up into the man.

"Better than could be expected." Gabriel said, eyes bloodshot as he kept his gaze on Sam's bed. The unconscious man looked pale under the florescent lighting, eyelids a bruised purple.

"How's Dean?" Misha asked tiredly, reluctant to look at his friend. The last coffee trip had almost had him in tears at the look on Dean's face. He hasn't spoken much, merely sitting next to Sam's bed and waiting.

Honestly, they were all waiting, and it was beginning to take its toll.

"Him?" Gabriel asked. "Not as well, I'd imagine. Not the first person he's had to watch like that." He said, tone dull.

Misha frowned, feeling guilty. Taking a step back so he could face Gabriel, he cleared his throat.

"Sam is going to wake up, right? He's not..." Misha swallowed, unable to speak the words.

Gabriel shook his head, eyes looking old. "He's not in a coma. The medication is keeping him under while his body tries to heal itself."

Misha let out a breath. "So he's gonna be okay?"

Gabriel's face darkened. "I can't tell." He said flatly, self-hate flashing through his eyes.

"Can't or won't?" Misha asked.

Gabriel spun on him, cold anger filling his eyes. "Who are you to even ask me that?" He said sharply, furious. Tension filled the hallway, and Misha backed up a step, hands out in front of him.

"Gabriel, I just wanted to know if he's going to be okay." He pleaded, heart giving a twinge at the outburst.

"We need to know. Dean needs to know."

Gabriel's eyes dulled at that, and he turned back to his shared watch of Sam. Dean didn't acknowledge them, still beside Sam's bed.

"It's touch and go." Gabriel breathed after a second. "I have no idea how he's still alive."

Misha felt his body go cold at those words, but kept his face expressionless. "But now?"

"Now?" Gabriel asked. "Now we wait. Sam will wake up. It's just a question of time."

Misha saw the pain it caused the other man to say those words, reaching out and clasping their hands together. The doctor smiled at him then, gold eyes releasing their worry for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." He murmured after a minute of hand holding. "I'm sorry, Misha."

Misha shook his head, feeling a little dizzy, oddly enough. "It's fine. You're worried. We all are."

Gabriel nodded. "I just want this to be over." He said, but the following words blurred together.

"What?" He asked dumbly, shaking his head again to focus. Gabriel's face was blurry, gold shifting into pale skin that made Misha's head roll.

"Misha?"

His head cleared, dizzy spell disappearing. Misha felt a swing of vertigo for a second, placing a hand where he knew his stitches were. They had scanned over days ago, but his body still didn't feel back a one hundred.

"I'm good." He said, gasping a second when a tremor shook his body. He fell to the floor, lights spinning above him.

Misha felt Gabriel catch his head gently, panicked shouts echoing down the hallway. Chills swept his body as a cart moved in slow motion towards him.

_"Misha?"_ Gabriel was yelling. _"Misha, can you hear me?!"_

* * *

He came to consciousness a few minutes later, sitting in a small exam room. Gabriel sat on a chair next to the door, face stony.

"Gabe?" Misha asked.

The man startled, sitting up and rushing over once he saw Misha sitting up. "Misha!"

"What happened?" He asked, remembering the dizzy spell and not much else.

"You fainted." Gabriel said, tone dismissive yet Misha knew by the even deeper circles under his eyes it'd scared him. "Exhaustion, weakness from the surgery."

Misha got out of the bed slowly, turning so he could sit for a second. Gabriel handed him a glass of water wordlessly.

"You scared the living shit out of me." He admitted after a second, gold eyes not meeting his.

Misha cracked a smile at that. "That so?" He asked, stretching a little bit. He was fine.

Gabriel looked up at his jovial tone. "Yeah." He muttered, gold eyes still echoing panic.

Misha faltered. "I'm sorry." He said, feeling even guiltier than before. Dean wasn't the only one who was worried.

Gabriel shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

"Like I said before. I just want this to be over."

Misha stood, not touching the tired man but offering support silently.

"Me too."

* * *

Sam woke slowly, attention immediately going to the strange sensation surrounding his chest. With a slightly numb hand, he reached down, inspecting the bandages there.

Gabe had done a superb job, as usual.

He looked up when a small gasp filled the room. A wide pair of green eyes met his, emotion flooding the room.

"Hey Sammy." Dean said, voice hoarse. He sat on the chair next to Sam's bed, clothes rumpled. He looked like hell, to be honest.

"Hey." Sam said, voice scratchy with disuse and something he'd totally deny later.

Dean moved a little bit closer to him, motion anything but awkward. After a second, he put his hand around Sam's neck, leaning in for a long kiss.

Sam felt Dean's desperation in that kiss, pain and worry of the last few weeks building to crescendo as he pressed his lips to Sam's. Sharp pain flared in Sam's chest, but he kept kissing Dean, equally as desperate.

"God, I was so worried." Dean said once they broke off, reaching a hand up to his eyes.

Sam felt tears well in his eyes at his words, broken as he saw Dean come apart in front of him.

Once Dean got control of himself a few seconds later, he reached out, clasping Sam's hand. Sam looked down, worry clouding his mind.

"How are Gabe and Misha?" He asked after a second, looking around the room.

"Good." Dean said, voice still a little hoarse. "Misha fainted a few hours ago. Gabe said it was a combination of things, but he's good now."

Sam nodded, worry dissipated but still present. He tried to joke it off.

"They a thing now?" He asked with a small smile.

Dean shook his head, matching smile adorning his face. "I have no fucking clue."

Sam nodded. "Cool."

They didn't address the elephant in the room. Sam shifted after a second, prompting Dean to ask him if he needed anything.

"I'm good." Sam said. "Though I am wondering where my doctor is." He said with an ironic smile.

"Good thing I'm here, then." A smooth voice came from the doorway. Sam and Dean looked up to see Gabriel standing there, gold eyes confident and filled with just a touch of humor.

Sam felt relief to through him at the sight of his friend. Gabriel looked better, cold anger replaced with something else. He wore a sharp white jacket, looking every bit the world class surgeon he was.

"Gabriel." Sam drawled, mock frowning at him. "Late." He said, enunciating the word.

"It's fashionable these days, your highness." Gabriel snarked back, humor lighting up his face as he walked up and began to check the machines surrounding Sam.

Dean raised an eyebrow at the banter but let it pass, watching Gabriel closely as the man went over the read-outs.

A small sigh escaped Gabriel, and Dean relaxed back into his seat. The doctor turned back to Sam, who was watching him with the politeness of a prim and proper young man.

"And?"

Gabriel smiled. "It's herpes." He quipped, mouth twitching with humor.

Dean cracked up, delighted at the scene. Sam's face turned pink, but he turned to Dean with a calculating look.

Dean raised his hands in the air, defensive. "Don't look at me, man. I'm clean!"

Sam broke at that, laughter deep and reverberating. Dean saw Gabriel's face light up at the sight of the young man laughing.

"Well then." Gabriel said after a second. "I'm sure there's some paperwork for me to catch up on somewhere." He said, eyeing the two of them as they shared a long glance.

Sam just nodded, reaching out to touch Gabriel's arm. The man paused, ruffling Sam's hair before leaving.

They put on the TV a few minutes later, trading lazy kisses that said _I'm here, I love you_

Dean felt the shock run through Sam as Adam's face appeared on the screen.

"The young Prince died in a car accident early this week." The reporter on the screen was saying, motioning towards the memorial at some corner. "The whole world is mourning the loss of someone so young and magnanimous today." She said, and the picture of Adam came onto full screen. A smiling blonde boy looked back up at them, blue eyes wide and innocent. "Connections are already being made to another royal car accident death in 1997, of Princess Diana-"

Sam reached for the remote with trembling hands, but Dean was quicker. The TV shut off with little ceremony, and Sam let out a little gasp of pain as the image disappeared.

"He's gone, Sam." Dean said, pulling the man gently into his arms. Sam laid his head down for a second, seeking the comfort Dean offered. He didn't cry.

After a minute, he sat up. Dean met his eyes calmly, prepared to help him with anything.

Sam looked down, not meeting his lover's eyes. Dean put a hand under his chin, forcing him to look up at him.

"Hey, no checking out on me." Dean said with a small laugh, only partially joking. "Hey, look at me." He said when Sam's eyes wandered, filling with tears finally. Sam looked up, hazel eyes filled with regret.

"There was nothing you could have done." Dean said. "Trust me, I know." He said, voice pleading.

"Yeah?"

"Trust me." Dean said, hating that Sam had ever been put in a situation like this. A long pause followed.

Sam looked down at his hands, finally breaking the silence. He might have forced the smile he put on his face a second later, but Dean's answering smile made it genuine.

"So, food?"

Dean smacked him on the arm (lightly). "I was totally about to go all Disney-princess for you."

Sam smiled, amused. "I know."

Dean smacked him again, grinning at the look of betrayal on Sam's face. "Serves you right."

"Keep hitting me and I won't put out."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You can't put out in a hospital bed, you moron."

Sam looked dubious. "Watch me."

"I thought you said you weren't-"

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Anyone ever tell you to shut up?"

Dean smacked him even harder that time.

The End!

But wait!

* * *

_"Samuel is alive?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Why is he hiding, then?__"_

_"I'm not at liberty to say."_

_"What can you tell me, then?"_

_"Watch your tone. What I tell you is off record."_

_"Agreed."_

_"The younger prince didn't die in a car accident."_

_"The hell do you mean?"_

_"He was shot to death..."_

_"Dear god."_

_"..by his own brother."_

* * *

A/N So, there is an epilogue possibility, but that really depends on y'all. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and stuck with the story. Special thanks to EmilyOlga, Stryder2008, kuramalover011, if-llamas-could-fly, LeeMarieJack, Don'tSleep, ILOVEHULK, Unterseeboot, Formidable Rain, OneTooManyHeadAches, Lazy Rain, Sara, ostentatious-socks, reannablue, red panda bear of the blue, kat4543, Filichino13, and all of you followers who I tried to copy and paste into my notes(and my computer crashed:()

A/N2 THANK YOU SO MUCH. Again. It's been an honor, to sound cheesy. And, to complete the circuit of being cliched, please leave a review? What did you think? Epilogue? Yes? No? Hated it and wanna flame me?

Well...

BRING IT ON. :)


	24. Chapter 24

A/N Thank you to pretty much everyone once again. Sequel information is in the ANs at the bottom. Cheers!:)

* * *

Misha stood in the window this time, delighted at the joy he saw on his friend's face. Sam was awake, eyes bright as he looked down at Dean with so much affection Misha almost felt he was intruding. Dean was saying something, muffled by the glass but obviously important. Sam's answering smile was enough to make Misha grin. Turning away, he startled as Gabriel's face appeared right in front of him.

"Jesus!" Misha exclaimed, taking a step back in alarm. Gabriel cracked a smile, all gold eyes and honey hair.

"Nope. Just me." He said, sidling up next to Misha to spy on the happy couple. Dean was holding Sam's hand now, never taking his eyes off of the taller man. The changes in his friend unnerved Misha a little, but true happiness was in front of him, and the changes could only be for the better.

"So." Misha said after a few more seconds of voyeurism.

"So?" Gabe queried.

"Now what?" Misha asked, gesturing at the four of them.

Gabriel frowned, face thoughtful. He didn't reply for a second, simply staring at the ground.

"If you wanted, I'm sure your job is still open." Gabriel said, and Misha didn't ask him how he knew that without him telling the other man. "You could go home."

"And the other option?" Misha asked. "What about Dean?" He questioned, pretending the veiled dismissal didn't sting a little. Did Gabriel really want him gone that badly?

"I have a feeling the lovebirds aren't going to separate for a while." Gabriel murmured, proud smile on his face. "Sam will rest here until I can take him somewhere safe again."

Misha frowned. "You'd quit your job for him?"

Gabriel's smile took on a darker tinge. "I've done more."

Misha shrugged. "That's depressing."

A small bark of laughter escaped the shorter man. "Depressing?"

Misha nodded. "I don't think I know anyone I'd do that for besides Dean."

Gabriel met his eyes for a second, gold eyes warm. "Well, I would need someone to look after Deano." He said slyly, almost casual like. Misha felt his heart stop at the invitation.

"I don't think he likes me very much." Gabriel admitted with a smile, leaning up against the window. "You, however..." He trailed off. "Argh, fuck it." He said sharply, face twisting in frustration. He turned so Misha was facing him.

"Come with us." Gabriel pleaded, hands going to Misha's shoulders. Shock rolled through Misha again. "When Sam's better. I know it isn't much, and I get it if you don't want to come, but..." He trailed off again, looking in at Sam and Dean again. "They're not the only ones who need you."

Misha was caught between disbelief at the slightly cheesy (but well meant) line and gratitude. He didn't know much outside of his job and Dean-the latter of the two being infinitely more important. What Gabe was offering was something Misha wanted more than anything.

And that scared him a little bit.

"You really mean it?" He asked the blonde man, eyes wide. Gabriel nodded, looking almost anxious. Misha had never seen the man look so unsure of himself-this strong man who'd faced down so many.

"Then yes." Misha breathed. Gabriel's face lit up, but he covered it quickly behind a lip quirk-raised eyebrow combination.

"Good." Gabriel finally said, turning back to the window like nothing had happened. Misha smiled at the way he was able to dismiss emotion when he felt uncomfortable-something told him Misha would be fixing that.

Something told Misha a lot of things were going to be changing.

* * *

A/N It is my delight to inform you that this fic is being continued in the sequel "A Question of Time". Go check out my author's page and follow, people! It's happening! :)


End file.
